


Never Nothing

by Elizabeethan



Series: Never Nothing [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, Sort of? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29229339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeethan/pseuds/Elizabeethan
Summary: After being set up to take the fall for her boyfriend’s crime, Emma Swan is sentenced to community service, where she meets a handsome Brit who changes everything.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: Never Nothing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187180
Comments: 90
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

Judge Capshaw took pity on her. She has a soft spot for first-time offenders, especially young women who mess up but want to get their lives on track. At least, that’s what Emma’s public defender told her before they walked into the courtroom, Emma constantly pushing her thick-framed glasses up her nose and trying to make sure her braid wasn’t falling loose. Her lawyer also told her that she should wear her glasses to look  _ astute. _

The judge said she  _ sees potential  _ in Emma’s ability to  _ thrive in society _ . Judge Capshaw believes in her, and it’s a strange feeling. 

She’s sentenced to 80 hours of community service. The argument that she was set up to take the fall for her  _ ex _ boyfriend’s crime ended up working out, despite her lawyer’s hesitation. In addition to the community service, it’s strongly recommended that she take part in a case management program that can help her  _ get back on her feet.  _ As if she’s ever been on her feet.

Ingrid, her case manager, finds her a place and is working on getting her a job. The process is faster than she expected, and she’s barely able to think about all that she’s been through as her life quickly swirls around her. Within two weeks of being released from the county jail with only the clothes on her back, she’s sitting in her very own third floor apartment in Mesa, crying on the floor. 

No one has ever done anything like this for her. No one has ever done  _ anything _ for her. She isn’t sure why or how her life is turning around, but she knows one thing: Neal Cassidy setting her up was one of the best things that’s ever happened to her. 

~~~~

As it turns out, completing court ordered community service is about as horribly dehumanizing as it looks on TV. True, she isn’t picking up trash on the side of the highway wearing an orange jumpsuit, but working for Habitat for Humanity isn’t much better. It’s hot out, the dry Arizona heat scorching her fair skin, and the more she exerts herself, the more water she drinks, the more she has to pee, the longer she has to stay here to complete her day. 

She elected to go at her 80 hours the way she does everything: aggressively. She should be done in two weeks if she plays her cards right (i.e. not leaving every 25 minutes to pee), and once she’s done, she can get serious about starting the job Ingrid found for her. 

If asked if she’s excited to be a waitress in a small, family owned diner, she would say no without hesitation. She hates working with people, and she thinks she’ll especially hate working with people and their food. But a job is a job, and right now, it’s all she has to stay afloat. The outreach program that helped her isn’t going to provide rent assistance forever, and she knows she needs to work on getting by on her own. She also knows that ‘getting by’ can’t just be stealing poptarts and breaking into cars anymore. 

Paul doesn’t trust her with a nail gun, so she’s stuck with a good old fashioned hammer and nails.  _ God forbid a woman use a powertool.  _ She sweats more with each lift of the hammer, her upper arms practically going numb after just an hour of holding up tiny nails against the unfinished wood and driving them into place. After a particularly solid beam, she lets out a heavy breath and turns so she can lean against it, wiping the sweat that slides down her forehead with the back of her hand. 

“Well, hello,” she hears from her left, and she immediately pinches her brows together as closely as she can and turns to give the offender an incredulous look. “Hanging in there?” 

Her jaw doesn’t drop. When she turns and looks into his brilliant blue eyes, twinkling effortlessly in the hot Arizona sun, her jaw  _ does not drop. _ As her eyes scan down his face to see the dark stubble peppering his jaw and the coarse curls decorating his too-exposed chest, though, her jaw does, indeed, drop.  _ Get it together, Swan. _ “I’m sweating like a pig, actually. You?” 

He laughs, and god dammit, it may just be the hottest sound she’s ever heard. “There's a surefire way to get a lad’s attention.” 

Oh no, oh no.

_ He’s British. _

Emma Swan does not need a man in her life. Another man just tried to quite literally ruin her life not a month ago, and she does  _ not _ need this tall, dark, and British dude coming along and messing things up for her. She’s finally starting to make a life for herself, dammit. So she responds, “I don't need or want attention from any  _ lads. _ ” 

He hums thoughtfully and nods his head. “Heard.” 

She gives him another look and rolls her eyes, unsure of what his damn problem is but unwilling to devote anymore energy into figuring it out, simply and perhaps too aggressively asking, “the hell does that mean?”

He shrugs, and she notes the black leather jacket tugging at his shoulders and wonders how the hell he can survive in this heat in so much leather. “I just mean, you clearly don't want me to flirt with you, so I won’t.”

She cocks her head to the left without meaning to, thinking back to when she met Neal. When he tried tirelessly to persuade her to get drinks with him despite her saying no more than once. She hums thoughtfully, again without meaning to. 

“So,” he says casually as if noting her sudden shift in mood and changing the subject, taking a seat beside her. “What did you do?” 

“Excuse me?” she asks, both jarred from the sudden shift and appalled at his bluntness. 

He extends his legs straight in front of himself, mirroring her own position, and kicks her foot. “There are two types of people here. The types who  _ want  _ to be here, and the types who  _ have _ to be here. You have to be here- I’d put money on it.” 

She laughs in surprise, still hardly able to wrap her head around how open he is. “Gambling is dangerous,” she tells him, and she’s met with a loud guffaw. 

“Right you are, love. I’m Killian.” 

With a sweet smile, she turns to face him and says, “that’s good,” then stands to walk away from him. 

He stands too, quickly as he struggles to catch up with her. “Killian Jones,” he tries again. “I also have to be here.” 

“Oh,” she laughs. “So you're trying to flirt with me by telling me that you're a criminal?”

He shoots her a brilliant smirk, his pearly teeth shimmering in the sun. “I’m not flirting with you. I’m just trying to make friendly conversation with the only other person who’s been court ordered to do manual labor.” 

She narrows her eyes thoughtfully and picks up her hammer again, then says, “what did you do, then?” 

“Ah, so you get to hear my sordid backstory and yet you haven’t even told me your name?” 

With a smile that was much more flirtatious than she meant it to be, she says, “what fun would that be?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh and shakes his head, picking up the box of nails off of the ground before her and handing her a nail. “Very well,” he concedes, leaning against the stud behind him. “I was arrested recently due to an altercation.” 

“An altercation…” she nods. 

“Aye. A fight, I suppose.” 

She hums, faking thoughtfulness as she drives another nail into the vertically standing plank. “You got into a fight.” 

“My first offense,” he confirms with a nod matching her own. 

He presses himself off of what will soon become a wall and moves down, following her lead as she moves along and starts working on the next load-bearing beam. “Why did you get into a fight?” she asks as she takes a nail from him and holds it to the wood. 

“He called me One-Hand Jones.” 

She drops the nail she’s holding and hears it plink to the ground, furrowing her brow and turning to look not at his face but down at his hands. She notices the box of nails balancing on a stiff left hand covered in a leather glove. 

“Oh,” she says softly, awkwardly, before shaking her head and bending down to pick up the nail she dropped. “Sorry.” 

“That's alright,” he smiles, and she feels comforted. The smile is soft and tender, and she can feel a warmth in her heart blooming through her chest and flowing down to her fingers and through to the tips of her toes. 

“Emma,” she tells him after a moment of contemplative silence. She isn't sure why she tells him. She’s coming off of one of the worst experiences of her life, a man she trusted setting her up to take the fall for his own crime. But this Killian Jones… he’s different. “Emma Swan.” 

~~~~

The 80 hours pass too quickly. She never thought she would say that, but she’s sad when she enters the nearly completed house two weeks after starting there. And it isn’t because she enjoys manual labor. 

She and Killian became fast friends. He was sentenced to 120 hours of community service, and he started a week before her, so they're on the same schedule now. They’ve worked together every day for the last two weeks, spending long, hot days in the sun getting to know each other, and she’s found it difficult to keep him at arm’s length. He’s stubborn that way; he refuses to let her push him away. 

She tries not to think about him when she leaves every evening, and she tries not to feel giddy when she arrives in the morning. She tries to ignore the flutter in her heart when she sees him, always there and ready before she even walks onto the site. He’s brought her coffee and a muffin every morning. The first week, she fought with him and (almost) refused the gesture, but when he eventually told her that he doesn't pay for them and that he knows she needs the caffeine (and her stomach growls uncooperatively), well, she can’t argue. It isn’t clear how he can get away with not paying for coffee and muffins that are clearly not homemade, at least not by any normal person, but she tries not to think about it too much. 

Their last day on site goes by as usual, with Killian’s jokes making the mood light and comfortable and Emma constantly rolling her eyes at him and then hiding her grins. She notices someone new, someone who looks oddly similar to Killian with his stubble and blue eyes and impractical leather. Normally, new people begin on Mondays, but she’s barely capable of being suspicious of the new face because of Killian’s distractions. 

Eventually, as the sky begins to turn pink and the air finally cools off just a bit, they know they have to leave. But she finds herself wanting to stay. She’s made a great friend in Killian, and she doesn’t want to lose him. Normally, she would probably run and take the opportunity to easily avoid the commitment of close friendship, but she reminds herself that she’s trying to turn things around for herself, so she bolsters up the courage to ask for his email address. 

Only, as she’s trying to leave, gathering her things as quickly as she can so that she can meet him, the other leather-clad casanova stops her and tries to make conversation. He asks if she’ll be back next week and then asks how she’s doing, and it’s too much. It’s creepy. What does this guy care? And then, by the time she gets away from him, Killian’s gone. He’s not standing nonchalantly against the beam that leads into the living room like he usually is, and he’s not waiting for her outside by the partially built garage like he has a few times. He’s gone. 

It’s a reminder, she tells herself. A reminder that she had parents once and they left. That she had Lily, and she betrayed her. That she had Neal, and he completely screwed her. And now, it’s a reminder that she had a friend, and now she doesn’t. 

~~~~

Lucille’s is a small diner located between a tire shop and an insurance agent’s office. Lucille herself has been dead for decades, apparently, but her granddaughter Tiana has taken over and runs what appears to be quite an efficient operation. She takes Emma for a quick tour, quick being the operative word, and then immediately hands her an apron and shoves a pad in her hand. “Ingrid tells me you learn fast,” she says, and Emma nods. “Good, I need fast. That table in the corner is ready to order.” 

And that’s how Emma suddenly became a waitress. All she has to do is scribble the order onto the pad and then shove it into the clip in front of the kitchen. Honestly, despite the constant running around and needing to get there for 5:30 in the morning, it isn’t that bad. She enjoys the busy atmosphere and finds that her shift goes by in no time. 

She likes being busy these days; it helps her to not think about everything that’s gone wrong and instead focus on things that are going right. She doesn't have time to think about how much she hates Neal. She doesn't have time to think about her PMS headaches. She doesn't have time to think about how much she misses Killian. 

That is, until her shift is nearly over and she enters the kitchen to clean her hands, slamming directly into his broad, hair-covered chest. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles as a plate of bacon crashes to the floor. “You’ve made me drop--  _ Swan?” _

Her mouth hangs open, making her closely resemble a trout, and she backs away from him slightly. “Killian?” 

“What are you--” he starts, but the commotion behind him picks up and he turns. “Just… I have 20 minutes left. Don’t leave, please?” 

“I’m--” 

“Please just promise you won't leave? Please wait for me.” 

His tone is so desperate, like he’s practically begging her. She wants to console him and tell him that she isn’t going anywhere, that she works here too, but he’s so busy that he hasn’t noticed her apron, and he needs to turn around so badly, so she simply concedes. “Okay.”

She rushes around as if she’s on a cloud for the remainder of her shift, dropping food off at her table expertly as if this isn’t her first day of work.  _ Killian is here. Killian  _ works  _ here. No wonder he always got free coffee.  _

Tiana checks in with her at the end of her shift and tells her she did a good job. The praise makes a warmth bloom in her chest, and she notes that it’s the first time in years anyone has ever told her that she did something right. 

She doesn’t feel comfortable enough to wait inside the diner, not after basically being told to leave since her shift had ended, so she steps outside and sits on the bench by the door, finally able to notice how sore her feet and back are. She’s glad she had to run around all morning and afternoon because it made the day go by quickly, but she may need to invest in some better shoes once she’s made enough in tips. 

The bell above the door chimes to her left and she looks up too excitedly to meet Killian’s brilliant forget-me-nots. He breathes out what appears to be a sigh of relief and smiles softly at her, walking towards the bench and sitting on her left. He’s always on her left side. “Hi,” he practically whispers. His voice is barely audible above the sounds of the street before them. 

“Hi.” 

“Been a while,” he points out. 

She smiles and her cheeks heat. “Just, like, a week.” 

“A week too long. I’ve missed you.” 

She’s silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. Unsure of whether she has the ability to confront him. So instead, she says, “you’re a cook?” 

Her chuckles nervously and says, “oh, aye. I can make a mean spinach omelette.” She scrunches up her face in disgust and he laughs. “Or some French toast.”

She laughs lightly too, missing the banter they shared. Biting her bottom lip, she leans gently towards him to shove his shoulder just a bit, then rests her back against the bench. “You were gone,” she points out weakly, hardly prepared for the words to leave her own mouth. 

She’s never confronted the people who have left her. She’s never had the chance. Sure, Lily came back that one time, but she was gone again before they could even think about having a conversation about it. She doesn’t know how to handle this opportunity; what to do with the ability to ask him  _ why _ . 

“I know,” he says sadly. “I’m sorry. I keep replaying that moment in my head, and it was so stupid to leave.” 

“Then why did you?” she asks accusingly. 

He takes in a heavy breath and she watches as he runs his hand through his thick black hair, resting his forehead against his palm. “I saw you with that bloke and just… I don't know, love, I got jealous. So I walked out and I immediately kicked myself for it, but when I got back, you were already gone.” 

Pinching her brows together, she turns her head to face him and he lifts his own out of his hand. “You got jealous?” 

He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle and says, “I don't think I’ve made it much of a secret that I fancy you, Swan.” 

Her chest clenches tightly around the breath she tries to take in, his admission not much of a surprise but still difficult for her to swallow. “Killian…” 

“I don’t expect anything. I know you said you aren’t interested in starting anything and that’s fine. I just miss having you as a friend, Emma. If all you’re comfortable with is my friendship, then I’ll gladly give it.” 

Maybe she should try this confrontation thing more often. It’s the first time she’s ever gotten an apology; an admission of wrongdoing; an acknowledgement of regret and sadness at the loss of her. Her heart swells again. 

“Okay,” she murmurs softly, rolling her eyes and smiling when he looks up at her with a grin. “I missed you too.” 

He bumps her arm like she did his, only he stays close to her and warms her skin. Despite the hot temperature in the summer months scorching her, she doesn't mind the extra warmth. “It’s only been a week, Swan.” 

They fall into an easy routine, and it isn’t long before they're spending almost every waking moment together. They find out quickly that they live not two blocks apart from one another, so he comes over after work almost every day. Killian tells Emma that she’s an open book, and, because he always somehow manages to get to work before her, he has breakfast ready for her each morning, telling her that he knows when she’s hungry. They never spend the night together despite how frequently she falls asleep on his shoulder; he always carries her to bed and sneaks out, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and thinking she doesn’t notice. 

He lets her complain about the horrible customers. He makes her lunch after a long, grueling shift and they sit on their bench together to enjoy it. He makes food for her tables extra fast so that she gets tipped well. 

She can’t deny how perfect it is having him around. How effortlessly they've fallen in sync with each other. How much she absolutely, irrevocably, whole-heartedly loves being with him. 

She doesn’t love  _ him _ , of course. 

~~~~

It’s taken her two months, nine torturous weeks, for her to finally feel stable in her new life. Her apartment still doesn't quite feel like a home, something always seems like it’s missing, but it’s more than she’s ever had. She’s made enough to buy herself not just a new pair of sneakers for work, but a new pair of boots as well, just to make herself feel good. She makes enough money to buy her own groceries. The connections program will stop helping with her rent soon, and she thinks she’s ready. She has the best friend she’s ever had by her side, always ready to support her however he can in a way that is unlike anything she’s ever had before. 

Her life is…  _ good. _

In all of the commotion of making her life as perfect as it is, she’s neglected giving attention to one thing. 

_ When was her last period? _

She laughs the thought off easily; tracking has never been something she’s really worried about. It always comes in the first week or so of the month, so she would just buy or steal tampons. But now, it’s the 17th, and she can’t remember if she even had one last month. 

She’s able to continue to laugh it off for another week, until Tiana sends her home not two hours into her shift because she can’t pull her face off the toilet seat. It’s early, the middle of the breakfast rush, so she can’t even tell Killian unless she wants to get burned with bacon grease. Tiana rolls her eyes and says, “just get out of here, I'll tell loverboy I sent you away.” 

She finds herself laying on the couch, a blanket pulled over her face to hide her eyes from the sun, wondering what kind of flu she has but knowing deep down that this is not that. 

She’s been crampy. She’s been cranky. She’s been starving. Her back has been killing her. She doesn't know when her last period was. 

Emma Swan is pregnant. 

There isn't a doubt in her mind; she doesn't even think she needs to buy a test. She and Neal were together twice, and the last time was a week before he betrayed her. Now she’s having his kid. 

The world is a cruel place, and that is something that Emma will never be given the opportunity to forget. 

Killian walks in hours later as if he lives here, unlocking the door with the key she gave him and tossing his set on the kitchen table, toing his shoes off and stalking into the living room area. “What’s wrong?” he asks, standing above her with his head cocked and his hands on his hips once he’s moved the blanket away from her face. 

“I’m sick.” (Read: pregnant.)

“So I’ve heard. I also heard you were nearly sick on the beautiful scramble I made for table 3 this morning.” 

She rolls her eyes and tries not to laugh, knowing that any movement will jar her sensitive stomach. “Shut up.” 

His face settles, his portrayal of anger melting from his features and his handsome face decorated with that award winning smile. “What’s happened, my darling?” he asks as he stoops to her level and brushes her hand away from her face. “It certainly isn’t food poisoning.” 

She isn't sure how he does it. Before he walked in, she was certain of her plan to not tell him, close herself off from him, and perhaps leave the state to avoid him. And now that he’s here and confronting her in the most soothing way, she has to force her mouth shut. 

“I’ll be fine,” she finally mumbles into the pink, fluffy blanket as she tugs it back over her eyes. 

He hums in concern, in a way that tells her he isn’t actually about to let it go, and stands again. “Alright,” he says. “Let me make you some tea and we can watch a film, yeah?” 

She groans. “Stop sounding so British. I don’t have tea.” 

“Sure you do, I replenished your supply last week.” She wants to glare at him but she can’t move the blanket without her head pounding. 

Moments later, when he walks away from the kitchen counter with two steaming mugs and a sleeve of saltines, her stomach growls. He chuckles as he places everything down on the small table in front of the couch and says, “ah, so you did want tea.” 

“I want the damn crackers,” she mumbles. He gestures for her to move down the couch, and she does so carefully so as to not disturb the calm her stomach has finally found. Once she’s out of the way, he sits down and lets her drop her head to his lap, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. 

Once their favorite show is playing, he reaches forward and fetches the crackers, slipping one out of the sleeve and gingerly placing it to her lips. She takes the sleeve from him, grumbling about how she isn’t a child and then feeling another wave of nausea at the thought of  _ having  _ a child, and he slides his fingers into her hair and massages her scalp until she falls asleep. 

~~~~ 

Two weeks pass during which Killian dotes over Emma worriedly, constantly assuming the worst, constantly forcing her to rest even while they’re at work and he barely has time, always insisting that she visit a doctor, even offering to go with her to the clinic. But she can’t tell him. 

Well, she can’t keep telling him she has the flu, and she can’t tell him she’s pregnant with her shitty, deadbeat ex’s child. So she’s stuck. 

Until she starts showing. 

It shouldn't surprise her, really. She’s got to be at least 10, maybe 11 weeks along by now. She doesn’t know much about pregnancy, but she knows her own body, and as she looks at herself in her bathroom mirror, she knows that it’s different. She also knows that she’s been malnourished for much of her life. Any weight she gains is always pretty noticeable because she suddenly isn’t skin and bones anymore. 

Considering her poor health and lifelong inability to eat nutritiously makes her shudder, because she realizes in this moment that this baby is real and it’s trying to grow. She can’t continue on feeding it poptarts and french toast if she expects the baby to be born healthy and without complications. 

Then she realizes that she’s starting to think of this thing growing inside her as a baby. Not just any baby,  _ her _ baby. Her baby, who she can raise, and love, and give a good home. Her baby, who she can cherish, whom she can give the life she always wanted. In her 22 years, she’s never felt a sense of purpose like she does right now. She’s been in denial about the fact that the lump of cells in her uterus is soon to be a human life that she created, but now that she can see it, albeit just in the form of a tiny, barely noticeable swell of her belly... her breath catches. For the first time since she realized what’s happened, she feels calm. She feels happy. 

She’ll have to tell him, she thinks as he unlocks the door and shows himself inside. He’ll want to know. 

“Hi,” she greets pleasantly as she exits the bathroom. 

He cocks his head and smiles. “Hello, love. Feeling better?” 

She shrugs. “A bit, actually. I’m gonna go to the doctor, though.” 

He nods, walking to the kitchen area and putting down a few grocery bags. “That seems smart, darling. You’ve been ill for weeks.” 

She follows him, peering through the bags and pouting when she notices he bought more spinach for his stupid omelettes but no poptarts. “I think I know what it is. But I'm gonna go to the walk-in anyway.” 

He slaps her hand away when she tries to steal a sip of his Sprite and says, “I don’t want your cooties.” 

She scoffs in astonishment. “You’re always yelling at me for eating like crap, and you come home with a Sprite! And you aren't even going to share?”

A smirk grows salaciously on his face, his eyes narrowing as he turns to look at her and says, “I don't live here, Swan,” he reminds her. 

She chokes on her own breath and starts to feel nauseous for reasons other than her pregnancy and rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean,” she says meekly, gesturing towards the empty grocery bags. 

“Aye, love,” he laughs. “Want me to go with you to the clinic?” 

“No,” she answers immediately, too urgently. 

“Alright,” he responds as he raises his hand up as if to surrender. “I can stay here until you're home, though,” he offers. He’s too thoughtful, thinking that she’ll want support and comfort when she’s home. She will. 

“Okay,” she agrees. “I won't be long, I don't think.” She isn’t sure how long a doctor's appointment takes when all she needs is to be told she’s pregnant and healthy, but she assumes it’ll be easy. 

~~~~

“Congratulations,” the doctor tells her bluntly as she walks through the door, after far too much waiting. “You’re pregnant.” 

Emma gulps. Her hands are settled in her lap and she finds that they’re still rather than shaking anxiously. “Okay.” 

“I can take some information about you and dad’s medical history, but I really need to refer you to an OBGYN. You don’t have a gynecologist?” 

She shakes her head. “I don’t know much about his history.” 

“That's alright. They can also do genetic testing if you’d like.” She shrugs. “What about you? Relatively healthy? Any concerns?” 

Emma shrugs again. “I don't know, not really.” 

The doctor purses her lips, discontinuing her rapid-fire typing and asking, “do you regularly see a doctor for a physical?” She shakes her head and drops her chin to her chest. “Okay. The receptionist will get you a list of OBGYNs who take your insurance.” 

With that, she types up a few more sentences and walks out the door without a word. 

Walking home in the shoes that meant so much to her a month ago, the shoes that meant she’d  _ made it _ , Emma sobs. She isn't sure why. 

~~~~

Killian’s asleep on the couch when she gets home. She shouldn’t be surprised, he’s been working a lot lately, almost every day, and when she closes the door, he hardly even stirs. She should tell him, but when she sees him sleeping so soundly, she can’t bring herself to wake him. 

It isn’t until she gets to the fridge, looking at the bag of spinach she may have to start eating, that he shifts, and when she turns around, she sees him pulling the blanket up to his chin adorably. “Swan,” he grumbles through thick exhaustion. 

She gives him a tight smile and shuts the fridge. “Hi.”

“Want something?” he asks as he starts to sit up. “I’ll make something.”

“No, sit,” she insists. “You cook all day. Just rest if you’re tired.”

He smiles at her as he relaxes back into the couch, watching as she walks over with her hands wringing in front of her stomach. Of her  _ bump _ . “Alright? What did the doctor say?”

She shrugs. She isn’t sure she’ll ever be ready to tell him. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Good,” he answers slowly. She sits beside him and snuggles easily into the couch, allowing herself to relax. “A lady dropped this off while you were gone.” 

She pinches her brows together as he reaches for the table in front of the couch and hands her a small manilla envelope. “A lady?”

“Said her name was Ingrid.”

“Oh,” she nods. “Ingrid was here?” 

He nods back and she begins to open the envelope, peeling the tab up with her finger and tearing it gently. When she squeezes the ends together and looks inside, her heart sinks, her blood running cold and her lips going pale. “What is it?”

She stands suddenly, unable to sit still as her blood races through her veins with too much pressure. Her breathing quickens; her hands start shaking. He stands too, and he takes the envelope from her hand and peeks inside. “Keys?” 

“It’s--” she tries, unable to speak as her mouth goes dry. Her tongue feels like sandpaper in her mouth, too big and heavy to fit comfortably. She feels a wave of nausea wash over her suddenly, the minimal contents of her stomach crawling up the back of her throat as a cold sweat washes over her. She runs, barely making it to the toilet bowl before she’s violently sick. She just isn’t sure if it’s because of the pregnancy or because of what she’s just found. Probably both. 

“Swan,” he says softly before she’d even realize that he hurried in behind her. His hand finds her back easily before it’s replaced by his prosthetic and he’s holding her hair away from her face and off her sweaty neck. ”Let it out, darling,” he soothes. “You're alright, I’m here.” 

She lets out a sob before retching again, and tears trace down her flushed cheeks as she cries pathetically into her toilet.  _ He’s here, _ she tells herself, and she sobs again.  _ For how long? _

“Come on, love,” he murmurs as he continues to run his fingers through her dampened hair. “Why don’t you hop in the shower and you’ll feel better. I’ll make you some tea.” 

She sniffles fiercely, wanting to jest about not wanting tea, but honestly looking forward to the way he makes it. She wonders how much longer she can hold on to him before she has to tell him about her pregnancy and let him go. 

Hopping into the shower was more work than she anticipated. She’s absolutely exhausted after her episode and she finds that she can barely keep her arms above her head to work the shampoo into a lather. Once she’s run the loofah over herself as thoroughly as she can, she shuts the hot water off and wraps herself up into the cozy towel she treated herself to. 

Living in a studio apartment hasn’t been difficult until she realizes she needs to change. And in order to change, she needs clothes. And to get clothes, she needs to leave the bathroom in just her towel as Killian prepares two perfect cups of tea, hoping he doesn't see anything he shouldn’t. She creaks the door open just a crack and calls, “close your eyes.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” he calls back jokingly, and she can’t believe that he’s making her smile again. 

She sneaks towards her small closet, tip toeing for some reason, and dives in, closing the door behind her and struggling to stand upright in the tiny space. She wrestles her way into a sweatshirt, grumbling under her breath about needing a bra but unwilling to go without the support while her breasts are this tender. Once she’s slid the tight leggings over her butt, she hops back out into the main living area. 

Killian laughs when he sees her. “If you’d asked, I would’ve brought clothes into the bathroom.” 

She rolls her eyes playfully. “And risk you going through my panty drawer? I don’t think so.” 

He tsks and shakes his head, carrying the tea to the couch and sitting beside her, holding her close to him in a comforting embrace once the mugs are set on the coffee table. “What’s wrong, my darling? Whatever’s happened, I promise I’ll be here for you so that we can work it out.” 

She sighs and shakes her head, doubting he expects something this big, and growing, to have come between them. She hasn’t even thought about whether she’ll keep the baby once it’s born, but she knows that a pregnancy alone, one caused by another man, will put a rut in their friendship from which she thinks they may never recover. “I don't think so,” she says sadly. 

“Emma, listen to me now,” he says insistently, pulling away from her and turning so that he’s cupping her left cheek with his hand. “You are the most important person in my life; I’ve lost so many people and I don't intend to lose you too. Whatever you're going through, I want to be there for you. Let me be there for you.” 

Apparently, pregnancy hormones are a very real thing, because as soon as the words leave his mouth, tears leave her eyes. He easily catches them with his thumb, stroking along her cheek so tenderly that it causes more tears to fall. “Killian,” she whimpers as she sniffles again. “I’m…” her heart falls to the pit of her stomach as she thinks of saying the word, and she turns her face to rest it against his palm. In a whisper, she tells him, “I’m pregnant.” 

His brows furrow together thoughtfully as he takes in her words, clearly trying hard to comprehend what she’s said to him and clearly struggling. “You’re… Pregnant?” She nods. “How?”

She lets out a sound thats somewhere between a laugh and a sob and says, “sex.” 

The sound he makes is nearly the same. “I know, I just… You're pregnant?” 

Another nod. He isn’t running, hasn’t even moved his hand from her cheek. “You can go if you want. I know this is probably--”

“Stop,” he insists. “Don’t say what you're about to say. Don’t tell me that everyone leaves and I can leave if I want to.” 

“Killian…” 

“It’s a baby, Emma,” he breathes. “It’s a blessing. You’re… you're my best friend and you're having a baby.” 

She shakes her head in disbelief, unable to keep her cheek settled on his palm anymore in favor of standing and pacing. She’s too restless and anxious to sit still and listen to his profound thoughts. “I don't even know if I’m keeping it.” 

He nods in a type of understanding she didn’t know existed. “Okay, well, I’ll support you either way.” 

“You don't even know about the dad,” she tells him as she turns to face him, holding out her arms as if to say  _ what the hell are you thinking? _

“You mean it isn’t me?” he asks with a smirk. If she was more emotionally put together, she would see that he was joking, but in her state, all she can do is gawk at him. 

“We’ve never…!” 

“I’m joking, love,” he consoles through a laugh as he stands to place his hand on her shoulder. “Tell me about him, if you'd like.” 

And she does. She tells him about how they met; with her stealing the car he had already stolen. She tells him about how she and Neal were together only twice, the last time just before he left her. She tells him about how he called the cops and let her take the fall for his crime, and that’s how she ended up doing community service. 

Killian doesn’t stop grinding his teeth the entire time she speaks, but he never interrupts. He allows her the cathartic autonomy of sharing her story without questioning her stupid decisions and misplaced trust in a man who took advantage of her. She’s never felt so free of the burden that is her past. 

When she’s finished, taking a deep breath to ground herself and finally meeting his eyes with her glassy ones, he gives her a sad smile and brushes some now-dried hair away from her face. “You’re a very strong lass,” he says finally.

She scoffs and shakes her head, turning away from him, unable to look at the depth of his honesty that reflects in his baby-blues. “No, I'm not. Look at me.” 

“I am.” 

Her eyes meet his once more and she’s never seen him look so serious. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. Nothing can. 

“You're the strongest person I know, Emma. You’ve been to hell and back and you're still standing tall and ready to take on another challenge. I… you inspire me so much.” 

She wills herself not to cry again, though her bottom lip shakes a bit when he pulls her in for a hug. She isn’t able to stop herself from picking herself up and hoisting one leg over his thighs, straddling his hips and nestling her nose into his warm neck. As if by second nature, his prosthetic is running along her spine and his hand tracing gentle, soothing patterns into her scalp at the base of her neck. “You inspire me, too,” she murmurs into his skin. “And you're my best friend.” 

“I don't want you to take this the wrong way, because I know we’ve talked about this briefly before, but Emma… I love you. I truly do. I just want what’s best for you, whatever that is.” 

She tightens her arms around his back and presses harder into the flesh of his neck, letting herself relax at the feel of his pulse beating steadily against her nose. Neal said it once or twice. But now, the way his words fill the room and fill each hole in her heart, Emma believes Killian more than she’s ever believed anyone. 

“I love you, too.” 

She’s said it to Neal once or twice. But now she knows that she means it. 

~~~~

They don’t wake again until morning, a kink in Emma’s neck as she tries to sit up, though Killian's arm is heavy atop her middle. He held her tight through the night, her back pressed to his front and his hand protectively splayed over her belly as they each slept soundly. They must've fallen asleep quite early, and she hasn’t slept this well in weeks despite the close quarters that the couch allowed. 

As she stirs, flexing her neck in each direction, he grumbles something about it being too early, despite the fact that they both work at a diner and start work at 5:30 almost every day. She giggles softly as he pulls the blanket above his eyes and teases, “are  _ you _ feeling alright? You're always up with the sun.” 

“A Navy man always knows when the sun has risen, and I don’t believe that it has yet, Swan.”

“It’s almost 10, we slept in,” she laughs. “You were in the Navy?” 

He clears his throat and sits up, suddenly sobering from his jokes and exhaustion. “Aye. I was a lieutenant for a bit. Almost became captain.” 

She lies back down and drags him with her, rolling so that they’re facing one another. “Almost?”

His smile is tight, and he barely meets her eyes with his own. “Just about. Well, I suppose I was for a few moments. Captain died and then… I lost my hand… and I was discharged.” 

“Killian,” she says sadly, running her fingers along the stubble on his jaw until she thinks better of it and draws away. Is it weird for her to touch his face like this? He touches her face enough, she supposes, so she replaces her hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

His smile is sad, now, his eyes clear from restfulness, though tearful all the same. “It’s alright. You shared your deep, dark secrets. I suppose it’s only fair for me to share mine.” 

“Not if you don't want to,” she assures him, brushing the unruly hair from his eyes. 

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath, melting into the touch of her fingers on his scalp. “My captain was also… he was also my brother. He died and I acted out of anger… I went after the man who did it and he bested me. Or it could've been someone else… I’m honestly a bit fuzzy on the details. But I was medically discharged and I ended up here. Got in with the wrong crowd, drank too much, got arrested, met the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

A grin blooms across her face as she shakes her head, their noses practically touching as he chuckles and lets her rest her head upon the arm that’s still under her. He holds her as tightly as she does him and she feels him pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “I’m sorry about your brother. And your hand. But you're still a better man than any I've ever met.” 

He breathes out what feels like a breath that he’s been holding, his chest deflating against hers and his arms tightening around her. “Thank you, love. That… means a lot.” 

Lifting her head, she looks into his bright eyes and feels her stomach flutter. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think the baby was kicking, but she’s certain it’s simply a flock of butterflies taking off. Her fingers stroke through his hair again, moving the curtains aside so that she can get a better look at his perfectly framed eyes, and he smiles. It’s as if he sinks into her touch, and having him so close to her is making her heart beat faster and faster in her chest until she’s practically panting. They're so close together in this moment, all she would have to do is lean forward a few inches to take his lips between hers. 

He would let her- of this, she’s certain- and she’s about to close the small space between them when they’re interrupted by a pounding knock at the door. 

They sigh in unison, Emma jumping slightly at the disruption to their quiet morning and grumbling her way to the door. When she rips it open, she’s met with an unsettling surprise. “You,” she says slowly, suspiciously.

The man smirks at her, making her feel uneasy. “Emma,” he says as if he’s known her her whole life. 

“Emma, what’s wrong?” Killian calls, and she can hear him from the couch, wrestling into a standing position. 

“Not to worry,” the man says. “I just came to give you this.” 

He wears the same impractical leather he had on at the construction site the only other time she’s met him. Extending his arm, he hands her what seems to be a postcard, but Killian takes it before she can. “Who’s this?” he asks from behind her, taking a protective stance. The man furrows his brows in thought and tips his head to the right. 

“I don't know,” she answers softly, looking down at the postcard in his hand and taking it from him. Adorning the front appears to be a clocktower, with a dated font spelling out  _ Greetings from Storybrooke, Maine.  _ She pinches her brows together in thought and turns it over, gasping at the words scrawled messily across the back. 

_ Emma Swan, found 23/10/1983. Storybrooke, Maine.  _

When she looks up again, tears in her eyes, he’s gone.

~~~~

  
~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally thought this was going to be 2 parts. Well, initially, I thought one part. and here we are, with an undetermined chapter count. I can say with some certainty that it will be a 4-parter though! Hope you stick around that long! 
> 
> Endless thanks to my bestie @the-darkdragonfly for beta-ing this beast, and to @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for listening to my mindless rambling as I try to figure out the plot. 
> 
> don’t forget to find me on tumblr :)

“What does it mean?” Killian asks for the hundredth time as he stands before the stove and flips the french toast he’s cooking. 

She groans again, rolling her eyes. “I don't  _ know, _ Killian. I don't have a clue what it means.”

“Not one single, solitary clue?” She takes the towel she was using to dry her hands after brushing her teeth (after vomiting again) and whips him in the rear with it. With a yelp, he says, “okay! Alright!” 

She sits down at the small table after tossing the towel back into the bathroom and sighs heavily, looking back down at the postcard and feeling more tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s got to be my parents, right?” 

He turns to face her, holding his spatula out thoughtfully and looking sinfully attractive taking control of her kitchen. 

Wait _ , what? _

“What about your parents? I thought you didn’t know them?” 

“I was abandoned,” she explains. “I always knew I was found in the woods in Maine, but I never had any other details. Now this cowboy comes along and it’s like he’s trying to give me answers? It was like he knows who I am!” she leaves her next thought unspoken:  _ I don't even know who I am. _

They’re both quiet for a moment as he professionally and perfectly plates her french toast and places it before her, opening a fruit cup with his teeth in a way that shouldn’t be as sexy as it is and sliding that before her as well. In the twelve hours he’s known about her pregnancy, he’s made at least three comments about improving her nutrition.

“We should go,” he says finally, breaking the silence. She chokes on the bite of french toast in her mouth. 

“Go where? Maine?” she asks in consternation, trying and failing to hide her aversion to his idea. 

“Aye, why not? We both finished our community service and we aren't on probation. What’s to prevent us from going?” 

She laughs, or maybe it’s a scoff. “Money? I can barely afford groceries, never mind a plane ticket.” 

He sits down opposite her and gives her a cheeky smile. “You just inherited a car from your terribly charming ex, did you not? We can split gas money. Stay in cheap motels.” 

She shakes her head and takes another bite. “You're a crazy person.” 

“I prefer dashing rapscallion,” he jests, kicking her softly under the table. “Come on, Swan. The bastard left you without so much as a word. We may as well take the car to Maine. Your family could be there. Don’t you want to know what happened to them? To you?”

She places her fork down on the plate pensively and considers this. He’s right. They could be there, and while she spent her whole life hoping they were dead because that would be easier than being abandoned in the forest, some answers would be nice. Maybe someone in town would know something about her. 

“I should just sell the car,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “I need the money more than I need to be let down by my parents one more time.” 

He hums and nods, taking another bite of his French toast. “I know what you mean. It’d be good to have some savings for the baby.”

She nearly chokes at his mention of the life she’s growing, a reminder that she has a choice to make. He’s right; she should have a little nest egg for when the baby is born in case she decides to keep it. 

He’s also right in his assumption that she wants to know what’s happened to her family. Now that she has a baby of her own to think about, she wonders even more fervently how her parents could leave her the way they did. If she decides to place this baby for adoption, she’d do so through legitimate means. She certainly wouldn’t leave it in the woods. 

“I might get car sick,” she finally says after just a bit too much silence. “We’d have to make a lot of stops so I can pee.” 

He looks up to her and grins over his coffee mug. “I’m sure there will be rest stops along the way. Or you can pee in the woods.”

~~~~

It’s taken a lot of convincing on Killian’s part that Emma deserves answers about her parents, and that her child deserves the love that she never had. He’s never once tried to persuade her one way or another as far as keeping the baby, but she knows he wants her to. She knows he’ll be there for her if she does. 

He isn’t subtle about his disdain for Neal. She’s explained to him several times that he didn’t know about the baby when he left her, but Killian maintains that he’s a coward for leaving in the first place. Now that he’s gone, he isn’t afforded the blessing of knowing about the tiny life she’s growing. At least, that’s what Killian says. 

They’ve spent nearly every waking moment together in the last two weeks. He’s been at her apartment every day, staying on the couch each night and carrying her to bed when they fall asleep too early. They haven’t talked much about going to Maine, except when Emma mentions the conniption that Tiana will have if they both take time off. 

That is, until one day when she finds a map of Maine folded up in his coat pocket while he’s still at work. She’s been staying home more frequently because of her fatigue and morning sickness, but he always brings her a muffin when he gets home. 

Inside the folded chart is the postcard that the strange, leather-clad man dropped off. She opens it up and sees a circled section, and when she looks more closely, she notices how the circled area of the map matches the small, faded sketch that sits on the postcard. He’s done research. 

Based on the small area drawn on the postcard, he’s found exactly where Storybrooke, Maine should lie. On his map, Storybrooke is nowhere to be found, but it would seem that he’s found it on his own. He wants to do this. 

He wants to do it for her. There’s nothing in this for him, she reminds herself. He wouldn’t get anything out of a road trip to Maine with his pregnant friend. She’s reminded once more that he’s doing this because he thinks it’s what’s best for her. He thinks having answers will make her happy. 

There’s nothing in this for him, aside from her happiness. 

She jumps when he comes through the door, tossing his keys to the table as he usually does and giving her a bright smile. “Hi.” 

She smiles back and folds up the map. “You found it,” she says without accusation. “Storybrooke. You found it.” 

He scratches behind his ear and gives her an awkward smile. “Aye. Sorry, if it’s… too much.” 

“No, no,” she says, waving her hands in front of her flippantly. “It’s…”

They’re both quiet, standing before each other in awkward silence before he passes the pastry bag in his hand her way and asks, “are you hungry?” 

“We should go.” 

He’s clearly stunned, dropping his arms to his side and letting his face fall in surprise. “You think?” 

She nods. “I mean… I’m having a baby. And I can’t imagine abandoning it like they did me. I want to know more. This is the most information I’ve gotten about my past in... well, ever.”

He smiles, walking the few steps towards her and cupping her cheek in his palm, kissing the opposite cheek. “You're sure?” 

She smiles and nods again, melting easily into his touch and touching her forehead to his softly. “Yeah, you're right.” 

He hums thoughtfully. “It’s about time you figured that out, love.” 

A laugh escapes her lips, her breath washing over his face in a way that makes his lashes flutter. She loves the way they rest against his cheeks. It would be so simple to close the space between them, but her stomach flutters and she’s reminded to pull back. 

It’s unfair to him for her to act on her desires. She isn’t sure she wants a relationship, and she knows that to be something he would want if she allowed it. He’s said he would accept whatever she’s willing to give, but she doesn’t want to hurt him if she changes her mind. 

The baby changes things too. It’s unfair for her to lure him in with the promise of potential for something more between them when there's also a possibility that she’ll be raising another man’s child in a few months. Her new obstetrician told her she’s twelve weeks along, meaning she only has another six months to decide whether she’s keeping it or not. 

Truthfully, she wants to. The times she was placed in a home with young kids and babies was when she had the most fun. She knows babies are a lot of work to care for, but she thinks she would be up for the challenge. The only things holding her back are money and the fact that it’s Neal’s kid. What if he looks like him? What if he acts like him? 

She catches herself humanizing the situation again, thinking about having a  _ son _ , and smiles as she steps away from Killian. Then she pictures Killian holding a tiny blue bundle and her heart starts racing. 

“You’re right. Neal gave me the stupid car, I might as well take advantage.”

His near-giddiness is so adorable. He practically hops into action, taking the map and a pen and a seat at the table. “We’ll have to plan a route. Have you been on a road trip before, love?” 

She shakes her head. “Only when I've been transferred or when I was running. Never for fun.” 

Killian nods. “You’ll never have to run again, Swan.” 

~~~~

They wait until after Emma’s obstetrician appointment to leave. Killian was insistent on making sure the baby is still growing healthily and developing on track, and she agrees. He’s spent the two weeks working and planning their trip, both of them slowly stocking up on snacks for the road so they don't have to stop too often for food or spend extra money. Emma took some extra shifts at the diner to help save, despite how exhausted and sore she’s been. Killian worries about her overworking herself, but she’s learning her limits and being careful to rest whenever she can. He’s constantly grabbing buckets and milk crates for her to sit on when she comes into the kitchen, and she’s certain that everyone they work with has figured out that she’s expecting. They probably assume he’s the father, too. 

It doesn't bother her. She decides she’d rather people assume it’s his child than tell the truth about the baby’s deadbeat of a father. If she had to choose between it’s biological dad and the man who’s essentially adopted it without a second thought, well… it’s no contest. 

It’s finally the evening before they’re set to leave, and Killian is swirling around her apartment like a hurricane trying to make sure everything is ready. She tries to help, but he practically forces her down onto the couch and tells her to relax. “We’ll be in the car for, like, a week straight. I’ll have plenty of time to rest then.” 

He hums pensively. “Three or four days, but you're right. Why don’t you do some stretching; I don't want you to get any sciatica pain.” 

She lets out a scoff and shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.” 

He shrugs. “I’m gonna bring these to the car,” he says as he helps her off the couch unnecessarily. Once she’s up, he presses a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek. “Be right back.” 

The casual kisses to her cheeks have become natural to them both. She practically expects them whenever he leaves or arrives. She tries not to read into that too much. 

He’s right, though, she has been having some back pain and stretching helps a lot. She’s surprisingly flexible, she’s found, and doing the exercises that her doctor recommended have been pretty easy overall. 

She takes out the yoga mat she got for herself as a treat, happy to be able to comfortably sit on the floor rather than letting her butt go numb on the hard linoleum. Once she’s settled into one pose, her breathing slowing calmingly, she shifts into her favorite: downward dog. She cycles her knees so that one is bent and one is straight, trading off positions so that she can stretch out her calves. The stretch goes from her shoulders to her heels as she finally settles both feet flat on the floor, her back straight and her head down. She holds the pose as her breathing evens out again, bending a bit more to deepen the stretch and groaning. 

“Swan, I was thinking about the weather when we get there,” she hears from just outside the door as Killian calls to her while he makes his way back inside. “It’s February, so it’ll be cold and snowy. Have you got a—  _ bloody hell.”  _

His words fail him as he stutters once he’s inside and facing her. She can easily guess why; her ass is pointed right at him, and she’s wearing tight leggings... her  _ good _ pair. She smiles and moves out of her position. “Downward dog,” she tells him as she sits on the mat with her legs crossed. “Good for my back. 

He clears his throat and scratches behind his ear, turning away from her quickly. “Aye,” he says awkwardly. “Very good. Uh… have— have you got a winter coat?” 

There’s something odd about his obvious appreciation for the way the pose made her ass look. Something that makes her heart race and a warmth flood through her veins, settling deep in the pit of her stomach. She’s glad she was bent with her face towards the door because, through her legs, she could see how quickly his blush lit upon his cheeks and traveled up his ears. Her grin is unavoidable. “Yes, I lived in Portland last year. Have you got a winter coat?” 

“Yes, I have.” 

“Okay,” she says expectantly. “Good. We should be all set then.” 

“Aye.” He still hasn’t turned around. 

She clears her throat awkwardly as well, standing from the mat and bending to roll it up. “Are you alright?” 

He turns to face her, but immediately seems to notice the way her cleavage falls quite full as she’s bending down, and he spins right back around. 

He coughs and sputters. “Aye, I’m alright. Let me just… I’ll just bring another bag to the car.”

“Okay,” she laughs. 

~~~~

If Emma thought getting to work at 5:30 was bad, she had another thing coming when Killian shook her awake at 4. It takes her a moment to orient herself to her surroundings, but when she does, she notices him lying next to her, tucked under her quilt beside her and gently running his fingers through her hair until she opens her eyes. “Morning,” he murmurs into the thick darkness of her quiet apartment. “Time to wake up.” 

“No,” she groans, rolling until she’s further under the covers, but not fully onto her belly for fear of squishing it. It’s silly, really, she’s hardly showing. But she’s still nervous about lying on her stomach and hurting the baby. She finds that there isn’t ever a time when she  _ isn’t _ worrying about the baby. “Too early.” 

“Last night you agreed that it would be good to get an early start,” he reminds her softly as he continues his ministrations on her scalp. “And Baby Swan needs breakfast before we go.” 

She isn’t able to stop the grin that splits her face at the nickname, so she hides it under her pillow. “You stayed,” she notices. 

“You asked me to,” he responds as if concerned that she forgot and that he crossed a line between them. 

“I know,” she consoles, rolling again so that she can face him, their faces inches apart once more. “I’m sorry.” 

“Emma, don’t apologize. I’m glad I could be here for you.” 

And here for her he was. The thought of going to Maine on a road trip with her best friend was one thing, but last night, when she began to consider the possibility of finding out what happened to her parents, maybe even  _ meeting  _ her parents, she started to panic.  _ What if they confirm what I’ve thought about myself my whole life? That they never wanted me; that no one ever cared about me. I don't know if I can come back from that. _

His words of encouragement and belief and  _ love  _ were barely audible over the sounds of her whimpering cries, but she heard enough. She heard enough to know that everything that came from his mouth was true. She saw in his eyes that he fully believed the things he told her. When she finally caught her breath and he carried her to bed like he has so many nights before, she clung to the collar of his shirt and begged him not to leave her. 

And he didn’t. He stayed. 

He forces her to eat a spinach omelette, reasoning that he knows she’ll convince him to stop for junk food during their trip (of course, he’s right) and claiming that she needs some vegetables to even things out. He had packed the car last night, so all they really need to do this morning is pack their toothbrushes and be on their way. Although she’s scared of what she’ll find, she’s also excited to be doing this with him. The only time she’s traveled was to be moved to a new home with a new family that didn’t want her, so to have him by her side is a comfort for which she’ll always be grateful. Despite her fears, she knows with her whole heart that he won’t let her get hurt. 

~~~~

He reminds her of the importance of hydration on a regular basis, especially in her  _ condition _ , but when she tells him that she has to pee just outside of Scottsdale, she thinks he may explode. “We quite literally  _ just _ left, Swan,” he complained, to which she rolled her eyes and chastised him for his obsession with her health. 

They make it quite far after that, all the way to Albuquerque until she tells him to stop again. She needs to stretch her legs and have a snack, and she thinks he might go insane if he has to drive anymore so she offers to take over. They get into a fight about the music she chooses, apparently he isn’t a fan of Coldplay, and he falls asleep while he’s supposed to be navigating so they miss an exit. But all in all, they make it through Texas and into Oklahoma City with only four stops all together, and she’s quite proud of them for that. The only thing they didn’t think of when they planned the trip was availability at motels. 

“I can get you a room with one double. Other than that, I’m booked,” the older woman said from behind the counter in the small office of the local motel. Emma rolls her eyes. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, met with an eye roll of equal irritation. “I’m pregnant. I need my space; he’s like a furnace.” 

“My condolences,” the woman says sarcastically, barking out a laugh and shaking her head. “Real shame you don’t want to share a bed with the guy you’re having a kid with, but there ain’t nothin’ I can do about that. One double, or sleep in your car.” 

Emma’s cheeks turn a burning red as she sighs in defeat and drops her chin to her chest. “Fine,” she mumbles, and Killian runs his prosthetic along her back. 

“We’ll take it, thank you,” he says in a tone that’s much more friendly than either Emma’s or this Judith’s. 

When they get to the room, she flops to the bed and lets her arms fall open dramatically, a groan of ire drawing low and long from her throat. “It is better than the car,” she finally concedes once he’s gotten their bags into the room. He lets out a booming laugh and stands before her, blocking her view of the water-stained ceiling. 

“It’s just for one night, love. Can you stand to share a bed with me again?” 

She hums. “I thought you would be taking the tub?” 

His mouth drops open in surprise, his brows climbing high on his forehead as he steps back slightly. “Of course I will, if you’d--” 

“Killian,” she chastises through a laugh as she moves to kneel on the bed before him. “I’m joking. Of course you can sleep here.” 

He laughs in relief and makes a motion telling her to push over so he can sit. He puts on the TV and they relax easily, naturally. He’d made them sandwiches for their first day so that they could save some money, and she has to admit they’re delicious. His talent doesn’t end with only breakfast foods, that’s for sure. 

They're both exhausted from driving all day, and she can’t imagine doing it again tomorrow. It becomes clear that they’re overtired when they both laugh so hard at the TV that Emma very nearly pees herself. When she tells Killian this and begs him to stop mimicking the very thing that’s gotten them to this state in the first place so that she can get up, he starts laughing even harder and she has to waddle to the bathroom while suppressing her own laughter. 

The muscles in her stomach are sore, but she hasn’t felt this good in a very long time. Any fears she had about finding something on her parents, or about spending every waking moment with Killian, have been effectively squashed. 

Last night, after her crying spell, she was too tired to even notice that there was someone extra in her bed. But tonight, despite her exhaustion, she’s very aware of the weight of his arm slung over her middle and the pressure of his chest rising into her back. His fingers dance along her tiny bump in his sleep, as if it’s second nature for him to stroke soothing patterns into her skin to help her relax. She pictures him making the same patterns over the baby’s small back as they slumber peacefully on Killian’s chest. 

At the image of him holding her baby, at the thought of him treating it like his own child, she pulls him closer, nuzzling into his hold and inhaling his scent and letting him consume her senses until she falls into a sound, dreamless sleep. 

~~~~

It’s not the blaring alarm that wakes her, nor is it the television they neglected to shut off. It isn’t even the feeling of his lips on the back of her neck, breathing heat onto her skin and making her shudder. 

It’s the very prominent, very firm erection digging into her backside, right at the tops of her thighs. 

She knows he’s still asleep because, if the other day was any indication, he would never in a million years let this go on without putting as much space between them as he can. She’s fairly certain that he was sporting something similar to this the other day when he caught her in a compromising yoga position, and he could barely look at her for the rest of the evening. His breath is also even and deep, washing over her in a way that sends goosebumps along her skin and lights a fire in her veins that stirs an inscrutable heat in the pit of her stomach. 

She’s been faced with a man’s erection three times before. The first time, she tried using her mouth on it and wasn’t such a fan of the messy and acerbic results. The second and third, she felt tender for hours afterward, and didn't really see any of the appeal that she’s heard other girls talk about. But she didn’t ever feel like  _ this _ beforehand, and maybe that’s the missing puzzle piece to sex being enjoyable. 

Her breath stutters when he sighs in his sleep, pulling her closer to him and pressing his hips firmly against her in a way that leaves very little to her imagination. She can’t even stop herself from rolling her own hips backwards towards his, just slightly, and eliciting a soft groan from him. She worries that he may have awoken, but his hand travels along the skin of her belly and just a touch higher towards her ribs, having found its way under her shirt, and she knows he would never dare touch her like this if he was awake. She doesn’t want him to wake up yet because she isn’t ready for this to stop. 

The pressure of his hips against hers is becoming maddening as the heat builds in her core, and she's never been able to feel her own pulse between her legs before. His breathing continues against her skin, washing over the base of her neck and tickling behind her ear in a way that makes her moan in pleasure, the noise inadvertent and accidental. She regrets it instantly, because this seems to be exactly what he requires to stir. 

He groans as he starts to wake, stretching for a second before he seems to realize the position they're in and freezes. His hand is off her immediately, and she finds herself missing the warmth of him as he rolls onto his back and clears his throat. In an attempt to spare him from embarrassment, she stirs as if she’s just waking up herself and hums as she rolls over as well, keeping her eyes shut and her breathing as even as she can in order to convince him that she’s still asleep. 

Luckily, the evidence of her own arousal is far less obvious than his, although the damp heat she feels between her thighs is maddening. 

He bends his knees to tent the blankets above himself and clears his throat again. “Ah,” he says awkwardly, his voice thick and deep. “Good morning, love.” 

She hums again and stretches herself. “Morning.” 

“Ready to hit the road soon?” 

She wants to be cheeky and ask how long  _ he _ needs to be ready to get out of bed, but she keeps her thoughts to herself in favor of rolling to face him and smiling sweetly. “Sleep okay?” 

She sees the smile blossoming on his lips, his tired eyes brightening slightly as he turns towards her but doesn’t dare drop his knees. His stubble is longer than it usually is, and while she used to think she wasn’t a fan of facial hair, she’s found herself somewhat obsessed with the way his grows in, consistent and thick. “Aye,” he confirms gruffly, dropping his legs to one side and turning to face her, knees kept bent between them. “Very well. You?” 

She nods. “This mattress wasn’t so bad.” 

Through a grin, he asks, “I wasn’t too furnace-like was I?” 

“No,” Emma giggles. “You were just the right amount of hot.” 

He blushes, the heat running along his cheeks and up to the tips of his charmingly pointy ears. “Sorry if I was too close,” he starts, but she cuts him off, scooting just a bit closer to him. 

“You weren’t. I slept better than usual.”

She hopes her words are able to convey another meaning: that she doesn’t mind being that close to him while he’s in such a state of arousal as he was earlier. That it impacted her in a way that was not what she expected. 

They’re quiet for a moment, inches apart and more comfortable with each other than they’ve ever been with anyone else, before he stirs again and says, “we’d best get some food in you before Baby Swan revolts.” 

“No spinach,” she tries to bargain. 

“No spinach.” 

~~~~

Emma thinks she’s near death when they finally park in front of a small bed and breakfast just outside of Columbia near a state park. The ride from Oklahoma to Ohio took them almost 16 hours with how many quick stops they had to make, and her eyes feel like they might melt out of her head if she has to stare at the road anymore. 

The man sitting behind the desk when they walk in stands immediately, clearing his throat and brushing off his pants before giving them a pleasant smile. “Evening!” he greets excitedly, in a way that makes Emma wonder how much business they usually get. “What can I do for you?” 

Despite the long car ride, they hadn’t talked about last night, when there was only one bed available and they had to share. She isn’t about to tell him that she'd prefer to sleep beside him again, but she isn’t sure she can sleep through the night without the weight of his arm over her waist and the heat from his chest against her back. 

“A room?” Killian asks. “What do you have available?”

“How many nights?” 

“Just one.”

The man nods and glances at his book, his finger guiding his line of sight as he clicks his tongue in thought. “You’ve got your pick; park view, or lake view.” 

“Do any of your rooms have two—”

“Lake view,” she interrupts. “Right, Killian? Lake view sounds nice.” 

He looks at her in surprise, brows climbing high on his forehead, and nods. “Sure, uh, lake view.”

As he guided them up the stairs to their room, the man, Eddie, tells them about the amenities the bed and breakfast, which he owns and operates with his wife, Lisa, has to offer. Tonight, Lisa will be making dinner; pot roast with mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli. Tomorrow morning, they’re making blueberry and lemon pancakes. Emma’s stomach growls. 

Killian groans loudly as he flops onto the bed, burying his face in the plush pillows. Emma laughs lightly as she looks around the room, noting the adjoining bathroom and cracking the door to see a giant bathtub. She gasps. 

“What?” he asks urgently, standing up. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at this tub,” she says excitedly, turning to look at him with a grin and being met with his narrowing eyes. 

He sighs. “I thought something was wrong,” he huffs, his tone accusatory and irritated. 

“No, just a big tub I plan on soaking in,” she tells him with a smile. “See?” 

He nods tightly and gives her a strained hum. “Aye.”

“Killian,” she says softly, walking towards him and placing her hand on his blunted forearm. “Don’t be mad, I’m sorry.” 

With another heavy sigh, he shakes his head and drops it forward. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get upset, I’m just tired. I thought you were hurt, or the baby…” 

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around his middle, pulling him into a tight hug, although it takes him a moment to reciprocate. “We’re fine, promise,” she says against his chest. “Sorry for scaring you.” 

He says nothing, squeezing her back and letting his hand trail slowly and soothingly along the ridges of her spine, resting at the base where he knows she’s sore. “Nice response time, though,” she murmurs as she lets her neck relax and her nose nuzzle into the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. He hums out a laugh and relaxes into her a bit more. “I’ve never seen you jump up that fast.”

“Bloody child has aged me already.” 

“Yeah,” she chuckles. 

Things between them remain unsaid; the decision she has to make weighs heavy on her chest. She loves this baby already, that she cannot deny. She also loves the way Killian talks about it, as if he’s ready for it to be here and to help her raise it. But she’s also afraid of making a decision based just on how she feels about him in the moment rather than considering the fact that she might not be financially capable of being a parent. She might not be emotionally capable of being a parent. 

But she knows he’ll always be here for her. 

“Why don’t you take a bath, darling; not too hot. Your back must be hurting. I’ll wait for you out here.”

She nods, trying not to imagine what it may be like if he were to join her in the tub and hold her close in the warmth of the water. 

~~~~

It’s not a date, she reminds herself as he pulls out her chair and bends down as she sits, pressing a soft and tender kiss to her cheek. They may be sitting across from one another and she may be wearing jeans and a real blouse instead of leggings and a sweatshirt, but it’s not a date. 

Eddie serves them a delicious smelling pot roast and Emma’s stomach growls loudly, making him chuckle. “I hope you enjoy,” he says warmly, giving her a sweet smile. Her refusal of the wine he’d offered when they’d arrived was enough to tip him off, she thinks, and now he won’t stop grinning at her. 

“Good?” Killian asks as she devours her dinner, moaning more lewdly than she should as she takes a bite of the mashed potatoes. 

“ _ So _ good,” she says. “Best meal I’ve ever had, I think.” 

His jaw drops. “Excuse me! You’re talking with a chef!” 

“A  _ cook _ . I think there’s a difference, right? Were you professionally educated? Lisa was professionally educated.” 

He narrows his eyes at her and shakes his head, fighting a smile as he glances back down at his plate. “No, I wasn’t.” 

“Did you go to college?” she asks more seriously, not in an attempt to chastise him. He shakes his head. “Did you finish high school?” He shrugs, biting his lip and furrowing his brow in thought, but not answering her. “I didn’t,” she offers. 

“No?” 

She shakes her head, too. “I ran away before I could. Lot of good that did me; now all I can do for work is waitress.” 

“That isn’t true, Swan. You’re brilliant, you can figure something else out if you want to.” 

She smiles flirtatiously and asks, “like what, cook?” 

He lifts a brow and says, “aye, perhaps.” 

“You’ll teach me?” 

He swallows thickly. “As you wish.” 

She smiles at his phrasing. She knows that anything that may happen between them will be on her terms. He made it clear how he felt about her when they’d first met, but since she told him she wasn’t interested in being in a relationship, he hasn’t mentioned it once. He’s given her nothing but respect. He’ll never push her in any direction. She has complete autonomy and it’s unlike anything she’s ever felt. 

“We’ll be there tomorrow,” he says softly as he takes a final bite. “How do you feel?”

She shrugs. She’d finished her meal moments before him, essentially inhaling the food that was expertly prepared for them. “Okay, I guess. Nervous.” 

He nods in understanding. “I know, Swan. You’ll be alright. The trip will be worth it— I know you’ll get some answers.” 

“How do you know?” 

Eddie arrives to clear their plates and he has a chance to consider his answer. “I’ve yet to see you fail.” 

She thought she left the crying behind when she hit 15 weeks, but his words draw tears to her eyes. She wonders when she’ll stop being so surprised at how much he believes in her. 

~~~~

Killian was right in assuming that Maine in February would be cold. She’s definitely glad that she brought her winter coat, but she would do with some more weather-appropriate boots, and maybe a hat and gloves. She’s glad she isn’t driving when they arrive, because it’s snowy and icy and Killian’s hand grips the wheel with a vice-like strength. She can see his other arm hanging limply against his left leg as he bounces it nervously, and she wonders the types of thoughts he’s having as he attempts to navigate them through the winter storm. So far it doesn’t seem like he’s having any trouble, though. 

“Storybrooke didn’t seem to exist, honestly,” he says as they cross the town line and pass a sign that says  _ Welcome to Storybrooke  _ with a sigh of relief. “But here we are. I’m just not sure of our options as far as lodging.” 

“We can take Judith’s kind suggestion and sleep in the car,” she offers nonchalantly, giving him a soft smile that he doesn’t return in favor of watching the road intently. 

“Very funny, Swan.”

She holds on tightly to the handlebar above her head as he continues to drive slowly through the winding, wooded streets. Manipulating the car through the snow doesn’t seem too difficult, especially since it’s an older model, and he said he had to get used to driving stick again when they first started. Once the storm started as they were driving through Portland, he took over driving because he didn’t want Emma to feel nervous. She wonders if he’s ever driven stick in a snowstorm before; she sure hasn’t. 

They finally break through the trees and pull down a main road, aptly named Main Street, and he slows down even more as they take in the picturesque village. There’s plenty of small shops and businesses that seem to be family owned, and she nearly applauds him when he finally pulls up next to a small establishment called Granny’s. It’s a diner, and an inn.  _ Thank goodness. _

Killian puts the car in first gear and locks the brake. “I’m going to see if they have any vacancy,” he says, turning the heat up for her. He seems to brace himself, rubbing his hand rapidly against his thigh and giving her a quick nod before opening the door and throwing himself into the storm. She watches as he pulls his hood up and runs for the door, dashing inside and shaking the snow off of his head adorably. 

She isn’t able to see much else once he walks towards the counter, so she turns to take in the small-town setting. A small antique shop on the corner, a fashion boutique that seems somewhat outdated… it all seems very quaint and dated, as if she’s gone through a timewarp. 

He hurries back out the front after less time than she expected and pulls her door open slightly. “We got a room; come inside and warm up and I’ll grab the bags in a minute.” 

His arm wraps around her waist as they hurry inside, Killian guarding her from the snowfall as best he can before brushing the snow from her hair when they get inside. Her coat doesn’t have a hood, as they found out, and he’s been worried about her keeping warm since she mentioned it. “Alright?” She nods. “Hot chocolate? Ruby here says they have the best.” 

She hums as she turns to face the counter towards which he’d gestured and is met by the smiling face of a woman who is not dressed for the weather. “Sure,” she responds with a hesitant smile, removing her coat, which Killian takes and hangs up on the rack. He guides her gently to the booth and chooses the spot beside her rather than across. 

“Cold out there,” he remarks with a shy smile, which she returns. She scoots closer to him and rests her head against his shoulder. He responds in kind by lifting his arm and draping it over her, pulling her closer into the warmth of his hold. 

“I’m glad we’re stopped. How was driving?” 

“Not too bad; the Bug is surprisingly reliable.” 

She hums out a laugh and settles closer to him and they allow themselves to relax after the difficult ride until Ruby drops off two mugs and gives them a wolfish grin. “So, we don’t get many visitors here. Or… any visitors. Where are you two from?” 

“Phoenix,” he answers. “Just drove up.” 

Emma sits up slightly and takes the mug as Ruby takes a seat across from them presumptuously. It isn’t really that much of a problem, though, because given the evidently low population and the blizzard conditions, the diner is empty aside from them. “Phoenix? I’ve always wanted to go out west. Get a little warmth.” 

Noting her shorts and low-cut top, Emma furrows her brow but nods. “It’s a lot warmer than here.” Killian seems to notice her top as well, based on the way he averts his eyes awkwardly, and Emma feels a twinge of misplaced jealousy. If he finds this Ruby attractive, he has every right to shoot his shot with her, she reminds herself. 

“We’re actually here for Emma,” he says in a tone she can’t quite read. “We think her family may have been from here.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Ruby perks up. “Do you know any names?” 

Emma shakes her head. “I don’t know much. Just that I was… uh, I was left in the woods as a baby.” 

She gasps, and Killian puts his mug down and squeezes Emma’s knee under the table. “That’s awful,” Ruby says sadly. “I never heard anything about an abandoned baby here in Storybrooke, though. Maybe Granny would know something.”

“Aye, perhaps we’ll talk to her once we get settled.” 

“Sure! Like I said, we don’t get any visitors. I know you rented for a week, but if you need to extend your stay, just let us know,” she tells them helpfully. As she stands, she begins to walk away before turning back around and smiling. “You guys are super cute, by the way.” 

~~~~

He tried to stop her. She has no one to blame but herself. 

She should have listened. It’s a damn blizzard, and she can’t see the ice that lies under the freshly fallen snow. She should have just stayed inside. 

But she’s stubborn and she refuses to listen to anyone when it isn’t her idea to start, so when Killian tried to insist that she stay inside while he gets their bags, she rolled her eyes and said, “I’m pregnant; that doesn’t make me fragile. I can get my own damn bag.” 

Of course, at 16 weeks along, her bump is growing and she isn’t quite used to the sudden shift of weight in her center. So when her feet catch a patch of ice on the way to the car, she almost immediately loses her footing and slides right for the ground, landing on her ass,  _ hard.  _

She gasps in both shock and pain, her eyes going wide as tears spring to them hurriedly, and lets out a pained whimper. She reaches her arms around herself and tries to press to her already sore lower back, but she feels a sharp pain in her right wrist that causes her to cry out louder. 

“Swan!” she hears from the other side of the car, and Killian’s at her side in a matter of seconds. “What happened? The baby… are you alright?” 

Through a sob, a result of either pain or fear, she isn't sure, she shakes her head and says, “I don't know.” 

Granny’s running from the diner, shouting about something or another and squatting beside Killian to look Emma in the eye. “I saw her go down. She’s pregnant?” she asks, and Killian nods. “Might have fractured her tailbone. You should get her to the hospital.”

She cries harder when she hears the authoritative woman say  _ hospital _ , and holds up her right arm for him. “My wrist,” she blubbers, placing her left hand over her bump protectively. Killian’s hand follows hers and presses to her belly, rubbing soothing circles that she can barely feel through her puffy coat. 

“Come now, my love,” he says calmly. “I’ll get you to a doctor, alright? You're going to be right as rain, promise.” 

“The baby?” she asks pathetically, letting him and Granny assist her into a standing position. 

She’s glad to have support from someone they’ve only just met— she hasn’t ever felt so comfortable with complete strangers— but the fact that Killian hasn’t answered her inquiry about the baby she’s carrying being right as rain as well doesn't slip past her.

~~~~

They aren’t able to safely X-ray her tailbone without potentially harming the baby, but it's already feeling better, so they’re treating it as just a contusion for now. Her wrist is fractured, but they said that, based on the way she landed and the scrapes on both palms, she's lucky the other hand is alright. It seems like she took the brunt of her fall to her right hand, and she’s feeling that now as it’s being wrapped in a cast. The ultrasound technician has performed an examination, and now they have to wait painstakingly for the doctor to come in and tell them about their findings. 

Well, tell Emma. But despite Killian not being the father, they've let him stay with her every step of the way provided that they give her all of the information. She couldn’t be more grateful. 

He squeezed her left hand in his right as the technician waved the ultrasound transducer over her belly, the image of the baby appearing on the screen and the strong-sounding heartbeat giving them both comfort that it may be alright after all. When she looked at him, his eyes were glassy. 

He stays by her side, holding her good hand and resting his head against the mattress she finds herself on. They gave her a donut pillow which helps her to feel more comfortable lying down, but what she really wants is some painkillers. But the more she thinks about the pain, the more she realizes she’d rather break every bone in her body than risk hurting her child by taking something she shouldn’t. 

“This is my fault,” he finally gruffs out after an overwhelming amount of silence between them. 

She releases her hand from his and runs her fingers through his hair, scratching along his scalp in a way that she’s found tends to soothe him. “It isn't your fault, Killian, it’s mine. I should've listened to you.” 

“I shouldn’t have let you come out with me. I should’ve insisted that you wait inside.” 

“You know I wouldn’t have listened.” 

He shakes his head and fights off a miniscule smile, letting himself melt into her ministrations against his scalp. “I’ll just… I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to the baby. To either of you. I promised to keep you both safe here; two hours in and I've already failed.” 

She shakes her head. “No, if it’s anyone’s job to keep the baby safe, it’s mine. This is not your fault.” He still doesnt look up, so she moves her hand to cup his cheek and makes him meet her eyes with his. “This is not your fault,” she says again. 

“It isn’t yours either,” he promises her, tipping his head to kiss the inside of her wrist. 

“Killian,” she chokes out, feeling tears burning her eyes again. “I know I’ve been unsure about keeping him, but when I think about losing him—” she cuts herself off with a sob as she covers her face with her hands and winces at the sharp pain that shoots down her right forearm. 

He’s standing instantly, leaning over her to tuck her face into his neck and hug her as close as he can without moving her off of the bed. “I know, darling, I know,” he murmurs into her ear, kissing her neck gently and running his fingers into her hair. 

Emma lifts her arms and wraps them tightly around his shoulders, pulling him close to her and reveling in the comforting weight of his chest against her. She cries and cries, whimpering about how much the thought of losing her baby hurts her. She tells him through tears and wails how much she loves her child; how badly she wants to meet it and raise it and give it the love she never had. As he continues to press soft kisses to her skin, she lets herself be vulnerable in his hold. She lets him comfort her until her wracking sobs subside and she’s able to breathe evenly again. 

He pulls away, just barely, and runs his thumb over her cheek to wipe away her tears. She’s certain that her eyes are puffy and mascara-stained, and her cheeks are likely red and splotchy, but he looks at her with more love in his eyes than she’s ever seen. “You would be—”

“Knock knock!” they hear from the door, and when they spring apart, she notices the redness around his eyes. “Sorry to interrupt,” a nurse says. “I just wanted to check in. Dr. Whale will be in any moment.” 

“Okay,” Emma sniffs as Killian sits back down beside the bed. 

“I’m Mary Margaret; I’m the perinatal nurse on your care team. Can I get you anything, sweetie?” 

Emma’s comforted by this woman. The ultrasound technician was nice enough, but this Mary Margaret is warm and welcoming and makes Emma feel a sense of calm wash over her despite her fear and anxiety. “Uh, I’m having a lot of pain in my wrist, but I don’t want to take anything that could hurt…” 

“Oh, alright,” she says pleasantly as she walks through the room. She greets Killian pleasantly and shakes his hand before coming to Emma’s right side and checking her chart. “Based on what we have here about your medical history, it looks like you could take some Tylenol. It’s perfectly safe for the baby, and it should soothe you just a little bit. Does that sound alright to you, as long as we consult Dr. Whale?” 

She nods softly, glancing at Killian and noticing his legs bouncing up and down anxiously. Before she can say anything or offer him any sort of comfort, they’re interrupted again by another knock on the door. 

“Good evening, I’m Dr. Whale. Looks like someone’s had an exciting day, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say exciting,” Killian scoffs, rolling his eyes. “More like horrifying.” 

“Yeah,” the doctor chuckles, and his blasé attitude makes Emma uneasy until the nurse takes her hand and gives a comforting squeeze and a soft smile. “Well, I have some scans here, and according to all of the tests we performed, your baby is just fine. Healthy little thing with a strong heartbeat.” 

Both Emma and Killian let out audible sighs, and she sees him sinking down into the chair and burying his fingers in his hair in relief. “Bloody hell,” he breathes, looking up at her as more tears fall from her eyes. 

“Have you been taking prenatals?” 

“Yeah.”

“Great. How long are you staying here in Storybrooke?”

She shrugs. “At least a week, I think,” she says, looking at Killian, who nods. 

“Maybe longer.” 

“If you stay longer than a month, I want you back here to check everything out again, and to check on how that wrist is setting. Otherwise, you’re good to go. Contact your normal OB when you get home. Mary Margaret can answer any additional questions if you think of anything as you’re leaving.”

Emma nods. “She said I can take Tylenol, right?” 

“Oh, sure. That’s fine.” 

Mary Margaret does some charting as Killian and Emma get ready to go, laughing at their banter and offering her two-cents when it applies. She’s surprised by how comfortable she feels around the stranger, and she wonders what it is about this town that makes everyone (aside from, perhaps, Dr. Whale) pleasant and easy to be around. 

She feels different. She feels like she’s home. 

“I hope you start to feel better soon, honey. Some Tylenol will have you feeling good in no time.” 

“Okay,” Emma says meekly, feeling not small and weak, but vulnerable and protected all at once. “Thank you.” 

~~~~

“She was really nice,” Emma says when they finally get up to their room and Killian shuts the door behind them. Granny had brought their bags up to their room after they left, Killian driving carefully and nervously through the snow again. 

“She was, love.”

“She made me… I don’t know.” 

“What is it?” he insists, guiding her to the bed and sitting her down gently before resting beside her and taking her uninjured hand. 

“I don’t know. It was just very comforting, I guess. It was like she’s known me forever and knew just what to say.” 

He smiles at her sweetly and runs his fingers through the tangled ends of her hair. “She did, didn’t she? Seemed almost like you and she had a connection to one another.” 

“Yeah,” she smiles, surprised, but not really, at how easily he understands her. 

“You should get some rest, love. We’ve had a long day. We can rest up tomorrow and get to searching when you feel ready for it.” 

“Okay,” she says, and he brings her her bag and she moves to the bathroom to start getting ready for bed. Her back is sore, for sure, but it doesn’t hurt as much as when it had first happened, so she feels confident in the assumption that nothing is broken. As she starts to feel better, Mary Margaret told her she could work on reintroducing her stretches that don’t involve her hands. 

When they’re ready for bed, they crawl in together. It doesn’t go unnoticed that there’s only one bed again tonight, and she couldn’t be happier for it. She’d been lying on the uncomfortable hospital mattress for too long, and all she could think about was having his arms around her as she slept her pain and fear away. 

He curls around her instantly, his hand finding her bare belly and letting his fingers trace gentle, even patterns there. She uses her casted wrist to pull him even closer, nestling her backside into his front in the spot that seems to have been made just for her. His lips find the back of her neck and he presses soft, timid kisses there as she feels her heartbeat finally slowing. 

“Thank you, Killian,” she whispers into the darkness. “I wouldn’t have made it through today without you.” 

He kisses her one more time and whispers back, “I’ll always be by your side, love. Always.” 

She drifts comfortably to sleep, dreaming once again about a small family of three: a mother, a father, and a little baby being cradled between them. She’s always had dreams like this, where Emma was the baby and her parents were faceless characters in her own mind. But tonight, Emma’s the mother and the baby she’s growing is the tiny bundle she cherishes. And Killian is the father who stays by her side and loves the baby as deeply as she does. 

She sleeps soundly, unaware of the commotion that’s been stirring at the hospital since she was admitted. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m committing to 4 parts, plus the possibility of a little epilogue. But the story will be done next week! Thoughts???
> 
> Thank you again and again and again and again to @the-darkdragonfly for being my beta and my best best friend.

Deft fingers gently tickling her skin wake her in the morning, later than she’s used to since they don’t have to travel or work. She giggles softly as she starts to wake, his fingers traveling slowly along the bare expanse of her belly before his palm settles just below her belly button where her baby lives. “Morning,” he whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin softly and making her shiver. 

“That tickles,” she remarks groggily. “Woke me up.” 

“I was getting bored waiting for you.”

“You could’ve gotten up and grabbed me a coffee, then,” she chastises playfully, closing her eyes again and settling happily into the warmth of his arms. 

“No caffeine.” 

With a groan, Emma rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun. Haven’t you heard to decaf?”

He squeezes her and chuckles. “How’s the babe?”

She sighs at the question. It isn’t like she can ask, although nothing feels amiss after her fall. “Fine, I guess,” she shrugs. 

Through a hum, he asks, “and how’s the mum?” 

She scoffs. “I’m not a mom.” 

“I think you’ve proved enough by now that you are. You were so brave last week,” he praises, and her heart clenches at his undying faith in her. 

“I wasn’t brave,” she argues, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t stop crying once.” 

“Emma,” he breathes out, squeezing her close to him and bracing himself against her until the anxious weight leaves her chest. “You’re the bravest person I know. You handled a terrifying situation beautifully. You put the safety of your child above the pain of fracturing your wrist in two places. How is that not brave?” 

She lets a tear fall now, sniffling and relieved that he can’t see her face. “I was so scared, Killian. I’m still scared. I thought I was gonna…” she can’t finish her thought. She can’t put to words how close she thought she was to losing her baby. 

“I know,” he whispers into her ear. His palm lands on her belly again and she feels a soft fluttering tickle that makes her furrow her brows. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

“I know it was hard for you, too,” she reflects, thinking back on his tearful eyes and the relief with which he sunk his fingers into his hair when they found out the baby was okay. 

“Aye, it was,” he admits shyly. The mood becomes heavy and she jokes with him to bring levity to the conversation. 

“It’s okay. Even people in freakishly realistic looking storybook illustrations get scared sometimes.” He laughs as she brings up their first morning here. 

_ When he stands from bed, grabbing his clothes and heading towards the bathroom to change, she stops him. “What’s that?” she asks, gaze trained on the dresser drawer that was pulled slightly open. “Did you put stuff in there?”  _

_ He looks where her eyes were trained and shakes his head. “No,” he answers, stepping towards the dresser and pulling the ajar drawer open all the way. “What…?”  _

_ “What is it?”  _

_ Placing his clothes on the ground before his feet, he bends down as she struggles out of bed and he reaches into the drawer. “It’s… it’s a book,” he says, an oddly thoughtful look on his face. “Good find, love.”  _

_ He’s opening the book before she’s even next to him and staring at the pages intently. They’re littered with stories and drawings that depict tales of another life. Tales of kings and queens and curses and evil witches. Tales of heroes and magicians and… The Savior. A product of True Love. How charming. “They're fairytales,” she says by way of explanation, either to herself or to him. “Weird that it’s in the dresser…”  _

_ “They seem so familiar. Look at this.” He points to an image of the princess Snow White and says, “it looks like the nurse. And here,” he turns the page and points to Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother, “Ruby and Granny.” _

_ “Killian,” she laughs, but he interrupts as he turns the page once more.  _

_ “A curse,” he says as if he’s read this story before. “There was a curse…”  _

_ Placing her hand on his forearm to stop him from turning the page again, she says, “they’re fairytales. There's always a curse.”  _

_ “And someone to break it,” he nods with certainty.  _

The fluttering continues and she takes her plaster-covered arm, although she’s unable to bend it at the elbow, and presses it against the back of his hand. “Did you feel that?” she asks urgently. 

“What?”

“I thought I felt…” It stops, then starts up again, and she lets out a soft sob. “I think he’s moving around in there.” 

He presses his hand a bit more firmly, although she’s pretty sure he won’t be able to feel anything from the outside. “I can’t… he’s too small.” 

“I know,” she grins, turning to face him and laying uncomfortably on her firm, scratchy cast. She lifts her free hand to place it gently on his cheek. “Soon you will, though. He’s never done that before; I think he likes you.”

He grins too, and presses their foreheads together. “He bloody well better. He knows I’m the only one making sure you eat your folic acid.” 

She snorts and tries to snuggle in closer to him, although it’s difficult with the ugly hunk of white plaster between them. “You’re ridiculous. And when did we decide it’s a boy?” 

“I think you decided. I’ve just been going along with it to appease you.” 

“Shut up,” she scoffs. “He’s hungry. I think it’s time for you to get us breakfast.” 

“As you wish, milady.”

~~~~

The diner is bustling, a far cry from how it was the night they’d arrived. The snow has been plowed and the sidewalks sanded, luckily, and Granny’s seems to have reached it’s capacity.    
  


“Who knew there were this many people living in this town,” Emma jokes once they finally find two seats next to each other at the counter. 

“Aye,” he laughs. “Quite a bit busier than we’ve ever seen it.” 

Emma isn’t sure if she’s paranoid or if everyone in the diner truly is staring at her, but she’s sure she feels many eyes on her as she orders her breakfast (pancakes, although Killian insists she get blueberries on the side). It feels strange sitting at the counter when they usually take a booth, but it’s the only spot available. When her plate is placed before her by a hesitant looking Ruby, she hears the sound of a throat clearing behind her. 

“It’s 8:15,” she hears. “You're in my seat.” 

Killian wipes his face with his napkin, stepping in for Emma who is too surprised to respond, and is met with the wide-eyed woman looking taken aback at the sight of him. “Sorry, Miss…”

“Mills.  _ Mayor  _ Mills,” she nods in his direction, then turns to Emma and says, “I always sit in that seat.” 

Emma looks around herself and notes the stillness of the diner as the patrons silently watch the exchange take place. “I’m already sitting here…” she observes. 

Killian pushes his tongue into the inside of his cheek and laughs silently, nodding his head and turning back to his food. Emma smirks slightly at him and does the same. 

Mayor Mills sits beside her, glaring in a way that makes her blood want to run cold. “Who are you?” she asks Emma suspiciously. 

She clears her throat. “I’m Emma. This is Killian. We’re staying here at Granny’s for a bit.” 

The mayor looks like she wants to respond, pinching her brows together and opening her mouth, but she’s interrupted by an older gentleman behind them. “Emma,” he says, making her turn around in her seat. “What a lovely name.” 

She swallows her bite anxiously and feels Killian tense beside her. “Thanks.” she can sense Mayor Mills glaring at the man threateningly. 

“Don’t you have a shop to run?” she asks him rudely. 

“Ah, of course you’re right, Regina.” he turns back to Emma and Killian and says, “enjoy your breakfast… Emma,” with a smirk before heading out the door. 

The mayor sighs and purses her lips, calling Granny over and requesting a coffee and an order of  _ her usual _ , apple pancakes. Once she’s ordered, she turns towards Emma again and asks, “why are you here?” 

“You're not a very welcoming mayor,” Killian points out in accusation. “In fact, this isn’t a very welcoming town, with the exception of some of your citizens. We almost didn't find it.” 

“And how did you?” she asks, more offended that he succeeded than at the prospect of her town being impossible to find.

Killian smirks, leaning over Emma to make eye contact with the mayor. “I’m quite clever.” She pinches her brows together again and accepts her plate of pancakes with a snarl. “By the way, you're lucky we don’t press charges. Emma slipped on some ice due to the sidewalk being untreated last week. Broke her arm, and could've put her child at risk.” 

  
  


She clears her throat and takes a sip of coffee. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” she asks, ignoring Killian's accusation of her negligence.

Emma steps in and says, “I’m looking for my family.” 

The Mayor, Regina, stills, choking on her coffee before gently placing the mug down. She clears her throat and says, “your family… I see.” 

“I don’t know much about them, but you’re the mayor. Maybe you have some information on a baby who was found in the woods just outside of town here? 22 years ago? We checked with the local news, but they didn’t--”

Regina’s head snaps to the left, glaring at Emma in a way that she thinks could be deadly if she really puts her mind to it. Without answering, or finishing her breakfast, or even paying, she stands from her seat stiffly and hurries out of the diner. 

~~~~

“This place is bizarre,” Emma complains as Killian maneuvers the streets once again. They had planned on relaxing today, after a complete bust at the newspaper the day before, but when Granny suggested that they visit the sheriff’s station for information on a random, abandoned baby, Emma was too anxious not to jump at the opportunity. 

“Aye, I agree. The mayor is quite hostile.” 

“ _ Quite _ ,” she agrees with a nod. “How weird was that whole conversation? The old guy?” 

“Very weird. She looked familiar though, don’t you think?”

She purses her lips and shakes her head in denial. “I don't think so. Where do you think you’ve seen her?” 

He shrugs. “She looks just exactly like the Queen in that book you found the other day. You don’t see it?” 

With a groan and a roll to her eyes, Emma says, “not the book, Killian, they’re just stories. It’s a coincidence.” She can’t believe he’s actually starting to believe that the people in this town are the same as the characters in a storybook they found by chance. The town must be driving him mad.

He sighs, nodding his head thoughtfully and not looking altogether convinced. “I know, you're right. Something just seems… off.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees with a scoff. “Off is putting it lightly. Weird, creepy, slightly threatening...” 

“Sorry, love,” he shakes his head in disappointment. 

She shrugs. “You don’t have to apologize.” 

“Well, if you're having feelings of discomfort while we’re here… I mean, I promised I would keep the two of you safe.” 

“Killian,” she breathes out, placing her hand over his as it rests on the gear shifter, his prosthetic holding the wheel steady expertly. “You are keeping us safe. Last week wasn’t your fault, and you handled it perfectly.” 

He turns to glance at her briefly, smiling before focusing back on the roads before them. “I’m just glad you're alright. Both of you.” 

She can’t stop the grin growing on her face at his admission. She knows that he loves her, that they're best friends. But the more time that passes, the more obvious he makes it that he loves her child as well. She can’t get the look of relief out of her mind because it’s exactly how she felt. The way he loves this baby… it’s as if he considers it his own flesh and blood. Realizing that is overwhelming and exciting all at once. 

He pulls up to the front of the sheriff’s station and stops at the door, engaging the emergency brake and turning towards her. “Why don’t you head inside and I'll park the car,” he suggests. 

She steps outside, carefully waddling like a penguin to avoid another fall, and makes her way into the small brick building. The bell above the door rings, notifying any staff of her arrival, but she’s surprised to see only one man sitting peacefully at a desk, facing away from her and towards a block of cells. She clears her throat, and calls, “good morning.”

He stiffens immediately, back going straight as he turns his head towards her and drops his jaw. After blinking several times, dumbfounded, he stands and spins around, showing off his badge and gun. “Morning, lass,” he starts, and she notices the accent immediately. “Graham Humbert. How can I be of service?” 

Emma gives him a small, friendly smile and walks further into the room, tightening her coat around her to protect herself from the cold of the cinder-block and tile building. “I’m looking for some information. A baby was abandoned in the woods just outside of town many years ago, and I wanted to know if you had any reports on it.” 

He hums thoughtfully, smirking and offering her his hand in an attempt to guide her towards his desk. She refuses, furrowing her brows, but walks towards the desk anyway and sits across from him as he sits and begins typing away. 

“Do you know the year?” 

“1983. October 23rd.” 

He hums and nods. “Specific, I like it. Let’s see here…” he looks intently at the screen as the large monitor roars to life before he begins typing away. “October 23, 1983. Nothing for that date, but I have a report for the 24th. Yes, a baby was found in the woods by… by a child. A young boy.” 

“A boy?” she asks, leaning in closer in interest. 

He nods. “The boy was checked for head trauma after telling a wild story about himself and the baby coming here through a… a tree.” 

“A  _ tree? _ ” she asks exasperatedly. 

He nods again. “Both were sent into foster care, but that seems to be all we have. They must've moved into another state soon after.” 

She groans, dropping her head into her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. It seems the trip as a whole was a complete waste. All she got was a broken arm and speculation that she was found by a boy with head trauma. It makes no sense-- how could they both get out there and he have no idea how?

Maybe Killian’s curse hunch is true after all. The more she learns, the less far-fetched it seems because there is absolutely no logical explanation for her existence at this point.

“Oh, one other thing, the items manifest. The boy was dressed like some sort of… I don't know, weird Oktoberfest costume, and the baby had a blanket with a name etched into it. Emma.” 

She shoots her head up and stares at him, feeling her eyes beginning to water and her palms beginning to sweat. She knows that blanket; she  _ has _ that blanket. 

“Emma?” she hears Killian call from the entrance, and both she and the sheriff cock their heads to the side. “Are you in here-- Oh. There you are, Swan.” 

“You're Emma?” the man asks. “This Emma?” 

Killian’s by her side in an instant, resting his hand protectively on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, love?” 

The sheriff stiffens in his seat and looks up at Killian before standing and offering his hand. “Sheriff Graham Humbert, pleasure.”

“Killian,” he says without taking the man’s hand. “What have you found?” 

The sheriff sits back down and says, “not a ton, just that the baby left in the woods was found by a boy, who concocted a far-fetched tale of him and the baby coming here through a tree. And the baby was found with a blanket with a name on it… her name.” 

Killian hums, looking down at her as she looks up at him and kissing her forehead before coming around the chair to look her in the eyes. “Darling, you knew already that you were the baby. What’s wrong?”

She shrugs. “I don't know, I guess it just confirms that that was me. That my parents really did leave me there. I don't know anything new, really.” 

“Can I make a suggestion?” Graham asks, awkwardly interrupting an intimate moment that she didn’t realize she and Killian were even having. “Go to the hospital; they might have birth records for that date.” 

Killian escorts her outside, guiding her with his warm hand pressed protectively against the small of her back. He had already brought the car back around, and she could sense his hesitation to leave her alone in the station as she insisted he go. Normally she wouldn’t even think of making him bring the car to her, but after last week, she’s far too paranoid to walk over any expanse of ice ever again. 

“I don’t like him,” Killian accuses as he pulls away. 

“Killian,” she chastises, rolling her eyes. “He helped us.” 

“He made you cry.” 

“I’m almost 18 weeks pregnant with abandonment issues. Everything makes me cry.” 

He scoffs and shakes his head. “You don’t have  _ issues _ ,” he nearly spits. “You were abandoned. That makes you upset. That doesn’t mean you have issues.” 

She smiles sadly and looks out the windshield. She isn’t sure what to make of his claim. All her life, the only consistency has been that she has  _ issues.  _ Foster parents, other kids,  _ Neal… _ everyone always maintained one truth. One constant. 

And here he is, barreling his way into her life and making her rethink everything she thought she knew about herself. 

“Anyway, you don’t think he looks familiar?”

“Not this again,” she says, tossing her head back into the headrest. “If you say he’s a character in that damn book…” 

He groans. “I know, I know. Sorry for bringing it up. I just… I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. Like that feeling that I’m forgetting something.” 

She nods. “I know the feeling you're talking about, but it’s probably because we aren't at home. Once we get back to Phoenix, it’ll go away.” 

He pinches his brows together at her words, as if the concept of returning home never occurred to him, and hums. “I don’t know…” 

“Killian,” she demands, wanting to get his attention despite the fact that he’s busy driving. “This is crazy. The book means nothing; you’ve got to stop worrying about it.” 

He nods, but she doesn’t believe for a second that he agrees with her. 

~~~~

The hospital is abuzz when they arrive, much like Granny’s, and everyone looks so frazzled that Emma wonders if this is common for the small town or something new that the residents have never experienced. Based on the exhausted look on Mary Margaret’s face when they arrive at the nurse’s station, Emma guesses the latter. 

“Hey, you two!” She calls when she sees them, then her face falls immediately, looking to Emma. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” Killian says, waving her off. “Just here looking for some information.” 

“Oh,” she says happily, sitting up and fixing her pixie cut hair. “That I can help you with. What are you looking for?”

Emma gives her a kind smile and says, “records on a baby that may have been born here years ago. She was abandoned.” It feels strange to describe the abandoned baby as if it were someone else. 

Mary Margaret turns to her computer and begins clicking. “Records were computerized just a few years back, so hopefully we can find something. If not, we may have to head over to the old file room. Do you have any identifying information on the baby?”

“A date of birth,” she nods. “October 23, 1983.” 

Mary Margaret looks up at Emma in a snap, her eyes wide and curious. “That date… it sounds familiar.”

Emma’s cheeks heat and she feels Killian’s hand on the small of her back. “It’s my birthday,” she admits softly. “You probably saw it on my chart.” 

She shakes her head and furrows her brow. “No, that’s not it… Sorry. Uh, there aren’t any records for that date.”

“What?” Killian asks, raising a brow. “You mean no births?”

“No. No records. Strangely enough, all of the electronic files begin on October 24th.”

Emma glances at Killian, who shrugs. He can’t make sense of it either, it seems. What are the odds that, the day after her birth and abandonment, the town suddenly came online? 

“Can we look in the records room, then?” 

Mary Margaret leads them down the hall and into an elevator, selecting the button for the basement. It’s finally quiet in the steel box, the closing doors shutting out the commotion of the hospital surrounding them. “What’s going on?” Emma asks, certain that the town can’t be this busy on a regular basis. 

“Oh, with all the excitement? It’s the strangest thing. A coma patient escaped last night.” 

They get off the elevator and she leads them into a dank, dimly lit basement, down the hall and to a locked door where she punches in a code. “Excuse me?” Emma asks, taken aback by her nonsensical explanation. “Escaped? Aren’t they, you know, in a coma?”

She nods sadly. “He’s, well… security footage shows him waking up and removing his IV before just… walking out the door. The guard on watch was asleep.” 

There’s something about Mary Margaret‘s tone, something sad and helpless and strangely emotional over a patient who Emma can only assume has been asleep for quite a while. So she says, “you’re worried about him. You care for him..” 

Another nod as she leads them towards the back of the room, the stacks of files twice as tall as Killian and rather intimidating. “I know it seems silly. He’s been in a coma for as long as I can remember. But I started to visit him on my lunch breaks when I first started working here, and as time went on, I guess…” she shrugs. 

Emma nods, unable to empathize with the position Mary Margaret finds herself in, but somehow understanding how easily she was able to fall into the flow of trusting and opening up to someone. When she looks at Killian, the person she trusts most completely, he’s smiling at her. “We should look for him,” she says aloud to Mary Margaret while looking at Killian. His face falls. 

“Emma, no.” He shakes his head resolutely. 

“Oh, no, the search party already told me to stay here. I’m not even technically on the clock, but they said I should stay to distract myself. I guess I got a little emotional when we found out he was missing,” she admits with a blush. 

“So, we won’t be with any kind of search party. We can find him.” 

“Swan, he’s in the woods! It’s dangerous.”

“You’re good at finding stuff! You found Storybrooke on the map,” she tries, and is met with his shaking head. 

“Finding a town on a map is a far cry from finding a comatose man in the woods in the middle of February.”

“You found me,” she says, trying to appeal to his more emotional side. 

“Aye, well, I’ll always find you, love.” 

Mary Margaret drops the box she had just taken off the stack, staring directly at Killian with tears in her eyes. “What did you say?”

Killian turns to face her at once, taken aback by her response and stepping forward to try and pick up the dropped box. “I just told Emma that I would always find her. Because I love her.” Her heart flutters and she feels another soft tickling in her belly as the tiny baby squirms around playfully. She knows what he means; that he loves her as a best friend does. But still, the words feel heavy between them. 

“Charming,” she says suddenly. “That’s… that’s very charming.” Mary Margaret pinches her brows together and shakes her head. “I feel like I… like I know where to go. To find him.”

Emma’s eyes widen in excitement and she looks at Killian again, although she’s met with his rolling eyes. “Swan,” he says hesitantly, knowing what she wants to do. 

“Let’s just get the records we came for and then we can take her to where she thinks this guy is! It’ll be fun, come on.”

“You shouldn’t be tromping through the woods after--” 

“I have a broken arm. That doesn’t make me broken, right?” 

He bows his head and shuts his eyes as Mary Margaret steps behind another stack, likely to give them a bit of space. “Aye, you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she says with a sly smile. “I know how you can make it up to me.” 

“Swan…” 

She says in a low voice: “you’re the nut job who keeps thinking everyone here is a fairytale character. Can’t you let me have this one? We each get one crazy hunch a day.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a smile he tries desperately to fight before taking the step to close the space between them and pulling her in for a quick hug. “Fine. But I'm only doing this because a perinatal nurse-queen is coming with us.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

“Yay!” they hear from behind the shelf before Mary Margaret steps out with a look of joy on her face. “Thank you both so much!” 

They dig through box after box until they find the right year. When they reach the box that contains records from October, Emma's heart sinks. “I don’t know how that can be possible,” Mary Margaret remarks with her lips pursed thoughtfully. “How are there no records prior to that date?”

There are records for December and November and part of October, but anything from before the 23rd is missing. There’s nothing for the entire remainder of the year, and no years prior. It’s as if nothing existed before the day Emma Swan was born and abandoned in the forest. 

~~~~

She wants so badly to take his hand as he drives them through town towards the woods, but she knows how difficult that will make driving for him. He’s perfectly capable of driving with one real hand and one prosthetic, but she isn’t sure he could operate a manual with just his prosthetic. 

But she’s hurting, and she wants him to comfort her like he always does. She wants to hold his hand to her chest and hug it close to her, if he isn’t able to hold her. She doesn't want to part from his side. She wants him to make her feel happy again. 

Life didn’t exist before she was abandoned. It’s like this town was dropped here the day she was born and everyone living here had no idea. What does that mean for her parents? 

It doesn't help that there are no records of her birth, either. She can’t prove that she was born in this town, only that she was found outside of it. In fact, the postcard that man gave her could be complete bullshit and mean nothing. 

She wants a hug so badly. At least she can feel her baby dancing around and bringing her comfort. She wants to hold him. 

Or her.

“Right here,” Mary Margaret finally says while they're about to drive over a bridge. “Pull off here, I want to check this out.” 

She’s still in her pink scrubs when she tries to open the door, and Killian stops her. “I have a coat on,” he reasons. “Wait here with Emma, I’ll let you know if I find anything.” 

They sit in silence, watching as he surveys the area, adorably checking under the bridge and behind trees as if a grown man might be hiding there. He sinks below their line of vision and Emma sits back, trying hard to relax. 

“Thanks for doing this,” Mary Margaret says. “Are you feeling any better?”

Emma sighs and says, “a little, but still pretty sore. The Tylenol has been helping though.” 

“That’s good,” she nods. 

After another moment of comfortable silence, Emma says, “I felt the baby move this morning,” with a soft smile. “He’s been dancing away ever since.”

“Oh,” Mary Margaret coos. “What a beautiful feeling, congratulations! Your husband must’ve been excited, too.”

Emma coughs and turns towards where Mary Margaret sits in the back seat. “We aren’t married,” she clarifies. “We aren’t… we’re not together.” 

She furrows her brow. “You’re not a couple? I thought… well, I saw how you were with each other.”

“We’re just really close friends. He isn’t the father.”

“Oh, I see.” 

Another chunk of silence passes between them, but Emma never feels the need to fill it due to discomfort. Finally, out of curiosity, she asks, “do you have any children?” 

Mary Margaret is quiet, not answering Emma’s question and instead staring straight ahead with a thoughtful, confused look on her face. “I… I don’t.”

“Oh, sorry if that was--”

“No, no, don’t worry. It’s a valid question to ask of a perinatal nurse.”

More silence. 

“Is this your first? Child, I mean?”

“Yeah.” 

Another beat. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find anything about your parents. I know that must be hard. My mother passed away when I was very young.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma says. “And yeah… I just felt like… I don’t know, it feels like they’re  _ right here _ , you know? Like all I have to do is open my eyes and they’ll be here but…” she trails off. Her eyes are open, and her parents still abandoned her. 

“Somehow, I know just what you mean.”

Emma sits back comfortably again, the car quiet. 

“Killian seems very excited about your baby; more so than some fathers I've met. If you don’t mind me saying so, he’ll be a wonderful father figure.” 

The only sound between them is the gurgling creek below. 

“I know,” Emma says with a smile. 

He’s hurrying up the hill after a few more moments of peaceful quiet, waving erratically as if to get their attention. Emma opens her door and Mary Margaret follows suit, both making their way towards him in haste. “I found him,” he says breathlessly. “He needs help.” 

Mary Margaret seems to snap into nurse-mode instantly, grabbing her medical bag and rushing down the hill past Killian and Emma, turning back only to seek direction. Killian hurries to guide her, turning back frequently towards Emma to ensure that she’s faring safely through the snow and ice and rough terrain. 

It appears as though Killian pulled the man from the half-frozen stream, his skin nearly blue and his clothes and hair soaking wet. Emma doesn't see his chest rise and fall. Mary Margaret is on her knees at his side in an instant, pressing two fingers to his neck and then commanding Killian to give up his coat to start to warm the man up. She begins chest compressions and breathing aid, desperately trying to wake the frozen man from near-death. “No, no, no, _I_ _found you!_ ”

Emma nearly chews a hole through her bottom lip as she watches her new friend try and save a man she doesn't know yet somehow cares deeply for. Killian hugs her close, which she suspects is both to comfort her and to keep himself warm. It feels like an age before the man sputters against a rescue breath, water escaping from his mouth and nose as color almost immediately begins to flood back into his pale face. 

Mary Margaret cries out when he wakes, pulling him close to herself for a hug that Emma suspects she wasn’t expecting, and the man hugs her back with ferocity. “You found me,” he mumbles into her hair. 

She pulls away from him and looks deeply into his eyes, as if she recognizes him, and opens her mouth to speak. Nothing comes out. 

“Mate,” Killian says after a moment. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

He passes out before he can answer. 

~~~~

Graham Humbert interviews them the following day, suspicious about how the three of them could have found a random coma patient in such a random location in the woods. Emma has to admit, he doesn’t blame him; she’d be suspicious too. Following the interview, Emma, Killian, and Mary Margaret choose to go to Granny’s for some dinner. 

“I really appreciate everything,” Mary Margaret says. “I know you came here for answers, and now you're being questioned by the police.” 

Killian scoffs, waving her off. “Nonsense. He needed help. He’d be dead without you.” 

“I’m just so worried about him,” she sighs. The man, identity still unknown, was brought back to the hospital, but has been out of his coma since last night and is making a miraculous recovery. Nonsensical, really. Magical. “I don’t even know why. I don't know him.” 

“It’s certainly odd,” Killian agrees. 

“I think it’s odd that he woke up all of a sudden and is completely fine,” Emma chimes in. “Shouldn’t his brain be mush after being asleep for that long?” 

Mary Margaret shrugs and shakes her head, dumbfounded as well. “Every case is different. His is just… special, I guess.” 

“Special is one word for it,” Emma mumbles. 

“Very special indeed,” killian says to her softly. “He looks--”

“If you say he looks familiar, so help me,” she threatens, loudly enough for Mary Margaret to hear. 

“What’s that?” she laughs at their banter.

“Killian just has some wild ideas about the townsfolk’s identities. We found a book the other day, and he somehow got it in his head that everyone here is a fairytale character.” 

“Oh,” she says pleasantly, until her face drops and she looks Killian square in the eyes. “Fairytales?”

He looks at her just as seriously, as if the world has stopped turning, and Emma wants to scream at the two of them for egging each other on. 

“Your grilled cheese,” Granny interrupts, placing a full plate before Emma as she grins and rubs her hands together hungrily. “Careful, if I serve you any more carbs this week, this one might have me shot,” she says, nodding her head towards Killian and drawing a laugh from Emma. His face remains unchanged; confused and pensive. 

“And two house salads,” she declares. She looks like she's about to say something else whitty, but the old man they saw the other day walks in and stares blankly at her, in a way that’s unnervingly threatening, causing her to stand straight and walk towards him. 

“What is up with this place,” Emma remarks under her breath, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. She has to admit, it’s almost better than Killian’s.  _ Almost. _

“That’s Mr. Gold,” Mary Margaret tells her. “He owns this place.” 

“The diner?”

“The town.” 

~~~~

“You need the rest of the day to relax,” he insists as they get back up to their room. “This week has been far too taxing.” 

He’d just gotten through talking to Granny about extending their stay before lunch, and while she’s discouraged about not having any answers yet, she’s glad to have a semi-permanent place to stay. 

“I know,” she agrees. “I just dont think I need a nap at,” she glances at her watch (one she purchased, thank you very much), “7:34 pm. I’m not a baby.” 

He snorts, raising his brows wickedly. “I know for a fact that you're anything but a baby, love.” 

She turns to face him, giving him an incredulous smile, then shaking her head. “You're a crazy person.” 

“Scoundrel,” he corrects. “Now come, try to relax. Perhaps a nice bath?” 

“Are you trying to tell me that I stink?” 

With a laugh, he takes her hand and drags her closer to the edge of the mattress. “Never.”

Before she knows what’s happening, she’s tripping over her own feet, her balance still a bit off from her growing belly, and she’s falling straight into his arms. He catches her so easily, it’s almost as if a magnet was pulling them together and fusing them to one another. Once she’s settled in his arms, his prosthetic is planted firmly on her lower back and his right hand brushes some hair away from her eyes. “Alright?” he asks softly, gently lacing his fingers into her hair unnecessarily this time, scratching along her scalp in a way that makes her eyes flutter. 

“Yeah,” she answers. “You caught me.” 

“I’ll always catch you,” he promises, his tone so tender and soothing that she feels her pulse relaxing and quickening all at once. The baby wiggles away in her belly as he does almost every time she’s near Killian. 

“I know,” Emma confirms. “Because you… because you love me,” she breathes. It isn’t a question. It’s a factual statement that he confirms with a nod, even though he doesn’t need to. 

“I do.” his voice is filled with such surety and vigor that she knows she’d be foolish to ever question him. 

Being entangled in his arms makes her breathing quicken, coming out of her mouth in short puffs of air that make the fringe dance in and out of his eyes. “And... I love you too,” she whispers. 

He’s in her space instantly, and this feels different. The last time they exchanged these words, it was clear to both of them that they were expressions of deep, unyielding friendship. Now, though, it feels like more. She isn't sure what it means this time, but she does know that friendship might not be enough for her anymore. 

The problem is that no one has ever been for her what Killian Jones has. There hasn’t been a single moment in all of the time they’ve spent together where he hasn’t believed in her, hasn’t shown her what she’s worth, hasn’t  _ loved her. _

She’s falling for him. It’s been so easy that she’s hardly noticed, aside from a few passing thoughts about his irresistible physique and god-like facial structure. (And don't get her started on the stubble.) but the feelings… those have been quietly sneaking up on her since the moment they met. 

She feels herself leaning closer to him, her breath quickening along with her heartbeat and the squirming baby within her. He leans in, too, and she’s certain that his soft, pink lips will touch her own at any moment so long as she makes the first move. She knows he’ll have her make the first move. 

She’s about to do it, too, until there’s a timid knock at the door that makes them spring apart. 

He sighs, groans, even, and moves her hair from her face once more before walking around her and towards the heavy door. “Granny,” he greets with a slight air of irritation in his voice. 

“Evening,” she responds nervously, wringing her hands together. “I just came to tell you, well, I just spoke with Mr. Gold.”

“Aye.” 

“Well, you see, he owns the place. And he reminded me of a rule—” 

“A  _ rule? _ ” he demands, and Emma’s brows furrow deeply. 

She clears her throat. “Well, uh, there’s a rule that states I cannot allow guests to stay for longer than a week. Mr. Gold’s rule. ” 

Killian scoffs and shakes his head, turning around towards Emma briefly, then back to Granny. “You’ve got to be kidding. You're kicking us out even though we want to try and give you more money?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m real sorry about this. If it were up to me, you two could stay here as long as you like. I didn’t even realize it was a rule until he showed me the contract.” 

With a heavy, heaving sigh, he shakes his head again angrily and says, “I know it’s not your fault, I’m sorry to get upset. I just hope Gold knows that he just put a pregnant woman on the streets. We’ll be out of your way after we pack.”

~~~~

“What are we gonna do?” she asks as they settle back in the car. Emma's in the driver’s seat this time, as Killian has claimed to be too angry to drive.

“I don't know, love, I’m sorry. We’ll figure something out, though.” 

“That Mr. Gold is a monster,” she accuses. 

“Aye, I know. Bloody snake.” 

With a defeated sigh, she says, “we should just go home.” 

He looks up at her, anger still ablaze in his eyes, and asks, “why would you want to do that?”

Dropping her head to the steering wheel, Emma says, “we haven’t found anything, Killian. This town doesn't want us here. All I’ve gotten is false hope, a broken arm, and a sore ass. Now we have nowhere to stay, what’s the point?” 

“The point?” he asks seriously, turning his body to face her and taking her hand, forcing her head off of the wheel. “The point is that we’re  _ here,  _ Emma. It seemed impossible, didn’t it? A town that doesn’t exist, yet here we are. It seemed impossible to get any information about yourself but we got some. We just have to keep digging.” 

“Digging,” she scoffs. “I don't know how much more digging I can take. In a week, all I’ve learned is that my parents didn't even bother to have me at a hospital, and the only person who might know something is a psychotic little boy who thinks we traveled here through a tree! How are those answers?”

“Emma--”

“I just,” she says through unexpected tears. “I just want my parents. I keep thinking they're so close and they're not. They're never…” she breaks off her thought as a sob chokes her, dropping her head into her hand. 

“Hey, hey,” he says soothingly, the anger evaporated from his voice. His fingers grab hers instantly, pulling her across the center console until they meet and he can wrap both arms around her. “Sh,” he comforts. “It’s alright, my love. You’re alright, I’m here.” 

“You're always here,” she cries again. “You're the only one who’s ever--”

“I know, love,” he whispers over another sob. “I know. You're alright.” 

“You believe in me,” she says against the warm skin of his neck. 

“I do,” he confirms. “I always have and I always will. I just wish for you to believe in yourself. For you to believe in everything that I know you’re capable of. There’s nothing you can’t accomplish, Emma, if you believe.”

Moments pass, her tears feeling more and more ridiculous the more they fall as he speaks nonsense into her hair. She isn’t sure what he means, exactly, but with his words come more fluttering, and for reasons she can’t explain, she does believe. She believes in something, and she wonders if that’s enough. 

A gentle knocking befalls the passenger’s side window suddenly. They break apart and Emma hides her face, wiping at the tears as Killian turns to face the offender. When he sees who it is, he cranks the window down. 

“You two okay? It’s cold to be sitting in the car.” 

“Fine, Mary Margaret. Just… trying to figure some things out.” 

She hums and nods her head. “Well, if you want to figure it out someplace warm, I have a spare room. It isn’t much, but i’m sure it’s a bit better than the one Mr. Gold no doubt threw you out of.” 

They both turn their heads rapidly towards their new friend in shock, and emma sniffles before saying, “really?” 

“Of course. Come on, it’s just down the street.” 

~~~~

“There we are, Swan,” he says when he places her bag down on the floor of the second story in Mary Margaret’s loft. “A nice warm bed for you to lay your head.” 

“Thanks,” she mumbles as she sits down. “I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head and furrows his brow, sitting beside her and taking her good hand, running a soothing thumb over the healing scrapes on her palm. “Never apologize, love. None of this is your fault.” 

“I should’ve trusted my gut and ignored that postcard. We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.” 

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than by your side, Emma. And I’m the one who pushed you to come. I should be apologizing to you.” 

She shrugs. “I was ready for answers, though. I just didn’t expect to be this disappointed.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment before she speaks.

“You know what’s weird, though?” she asks softly, leaning her head down to rest it against his shoulder. 

“What’s that?” 

“As much as this place has sucked the life out of me, I kind of… I feel oddly comfortable right now. Mary Margaret has been a better friend than any I've ever had, aside from you.” 

He hums and nods in agreement. “I know what you mean.” 

She lets out a heaving sigh and throws herself back onto the bed, taking his hand and dragging him along with her until they're lying side by side and facing one another. “Maybe I’ll just give this place one more chance.” 

“Aye?” 

She nods. “I gave you a chance, and that’s worked out pretty well for me.” 

With a grin and a soft chuckle, he says, “aye, for me as well.” 

A softer sigh this time, the movement bringing them closer together to the point that their noses are nearly touching. “Maybe even the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she suggests timidly, but with a certain amount of certainty. 

“Definitely.” 

“Killian,” she breathes against his mouth. 

“I love you,” he tells her with gentle resolution.

She closes the miniscule space between them and finally, finally presses her lips to his in a kiss that she thinks might change everything. He’s snaking his tongue out along her bottom lip before he stills, gripping to her arm tighter and stiffening against her mouth. 

“What’s--” she breathes, but she’s interrupted by the confusion in his face and voice. 

He pulls away from her and stares deeply into her eyes, his own azure globes wide and astounded. “Swan?”

~~~~

_ Several days ago... _

She storms into the shop, indifferent as to whether she smashes the glass as the door slams against the wall behind her. The click of her heels signal her arrival after the bell clangs above her head, and she’s at the till and pointing a judgmental finger in an instant. “Who is she,” she demands with force and anger that can be felt throughout the store. 

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Mayor,” the shop owner responds. “I know nothing more than you do.” 

The mayor huffs with irritation and slams her hand against the surface before her. “I saw what happened at the diner; you know something!” she insists. 

“What’s wrong,” the man taunts. “Is your little facade finally starting to crack?” 

She grinds her teeth and tightens her jaw. “You're awake,” she accuses. 

The man chuckles. “Of course I’m awake. I’m standing right here.” 

“She woke you up.” 

With a soft, slightly demeaning smile, he says, “I think you’ll find that you woke me up, by asking the lass her name in the first place.” 

The woman  _ aha’s _ triumphantly, pointing another finger at the shop owner and laughing maniacally. “So you admit it; you are awake!”

The man chuckles and nods. “That's right, dearie.”

“How did this happen?” 

“Why, the laws of magic, of course. Every curse can be broken.” 

“Not this one,” she argues firmly. 

“I implore you to remember that True Love’s Kiss can break  _ any _ curse.” 

She laughs again, this time in disbelief. “And this random child from Phoenix is going to break the strongest of all curses?” 

He  _ tsks _ and says, “not just a random child from Phoenix.”

The woman’s eyes narrow and she leans against the surface before her as threateningly as she can. “Who is she?” she asks again with venom in her voice.

“I think she’s exactly who you think she is. Tell me, dearie, exactly where and when was this  _ random child  _ found all those years ago? Where was the product of True Love when your curse was struck?”

“No,” she insists, shaking her head. “That’s not possible.” 

“Oh, it is. The Savior is the only one who can break your Dark Curse.”

The mayor begins to pace in her anger. “She needs to believe in magic in order to break the curse. She grew up here, in the Land Without Magic; she’ll never believe.” 

“Ah,” he says, raising a hand with flourish, “but The Savior carries the Heart of the Truest Believer.”

With a scoff, the mayor rolls her eyes. “What, someone can be the Product of True Love, the Savior,  _ and  _ have the Heart of the Truest Believer?” 

“I didn’t say she  _ has _ the heart, I said she  _ carries it, _ ” he chastises. Don't tell me you were too self absorbed to notice that the lass is with child.” 

“A child,” she breathes in disbelief. “How can the child… unless  _ both _ parents hail from a land of magic.”

The man nods and says, “precisely.”

“The pirate,” she realizes, shaking her head once more. “How did he get here? He wasn’t in the Enchanted Forest when the curse was cast.” 

“Well, dearie, I can only assume that he was sent by someone who requires the Heart of the Truest Believer.” 

The woman’s blood runs cold and a chill ripples down her spine. She can think of but one person who may require such a thing, and hopes beyond hope that she’s wrong. 

“We have to get rid of them; they cannot break the curse.” 

With a wiry, ominous smirk, the man responds, “I’ll see what I can do.” 


	4. Chapter 4

“What’s wrong?” she asks in worried confusion. “What just happened?” 

He shakes his head, exasperated, and says, “did you feel that?”

With her mouth agape, her brows set in a confused crease, she says, “feel… that kiss?”

“No. Well, yes. But… I just saw…” 

“Killian,” she interrupts, placing her hand on his cheek gently, the tip of her finger catching against the back of his earring. “What’s wrong? You’re acting strange.” 

His face looks just as concerned as her’s must as he shakes his head again and says, “nothing. I’m fine, just… I just got the strangest feeling like I've lost something.” 

“Killian, it’s okay. We talked about this. It’s just because we’re away from home.” 

“No, that’s not it,” he insists, stiffening again and pushing himself into a seated position. He looks down at his hand and prosthetic and then back at her. “Something’s missing. Something’s wrong.” 

He stands from the mattress and hurries towards their bags, digging through his own as Emma sits up with confusion. He makes a sound of triumph, pulling the large brown storybook from the bag and holding it up to her with a smile. “Not the book,” she complains. 

“No, Swan, look. The book, it’s… just look.” He returns to the spot next to her and cracks the book open, turning the pages until he settles on one with a large illustration of a handsome, stubble covered man. She can’t deny the resemblance. 

“I mean,” she starts hesitantly, trying hard not to give him the wrong idea, the impression that she thinks this hunch has a leg to stand on. “I guess I can see a resemblance between you and this… Captain Hook?!” she asks, astounded as she reads the brief caption. The baby tumbles. 

“Aye,” he breathes with a smile. 

“Killian… please tell me you aren’t trying to convince me that you’re Captain Hook.”

He lets his shoulders fall at her statement and shakes his head again. “I don't know. Something just… I had to show you.” 

“Okay…” She places her hand on his forearm and tries to take the book. “Why don’t we get ready for bed, then? It’s been a long day.” 

  
  


“Wait,” he calls, taking the book back and flipping some more pages. “This here, see?” he points to a giant mausoleum and taps his finger over it. “We’ve got to go here tomorrow.” 

“Why?” she breathes. 

“I’m… I’m not sure. But something I need is here.” 

“Something you need…?” 

“Aye. Something that was taken from me.” 

“Killian…”

His eyes are dark and clouded, like the sea in a hurricane attempting to punish any ship who defies her strength. He looks as though he’s been wronged by an enemy who will surely pay. And then suddenly, he snaps out of it. “Time for bed,” he says pleasantly, shutting the book and tucking it back into his bag. “It’s been a long day.” 

She doesn’t stop biting her bottom lip all night. His sudden and whiplash-inducing mood changes have her stomach in knots, and she can’t seem to sort out in her mind how he plans on going to some mausoleum that’s illustrated in a fictional storybook. As the baby ricochets within her like a beach ball being tossed across a crowd, Killian tosses and turns just as much, talking in his sleep in a way she’s never heard before. Calling out nonsense like _crocodile_ and _jolly_ and _coral_. 

One word he calls should seem like nonsense but isn’t, though. Her blood runs cold when he begins to repeat the word _cursed_ over and over again. 

~~~~

“It’s just here,” he insists, gesturing to the right and turning down the wooded street. She sees a small building at the very end, making her stomach twist at the sight. “At the end there.” 

He parks the car in front of the door, between two mismatched angel statues, and she takes in the small yet illustrious building before her. It’s made of what appears to be marble bricks and has a large red door with what Emma assumes is a family crest above it. It appears slightly run down, but whoever owns it must be fairly well off. “Is it locked?”

“I don't see a lock,” he responds, straining his eyesight before getting out of the car and heading towards the door. All morning, it’s like he’s been under a spell. All he can focus on is getting to this damn mausoleum and finding _what’s missing._ Emma figured she might as well go along with it so that he can see that there isn’t anything here aside from decomposing bodies and maybe they can go back to normal. 

That is, back to before she kissed him, because apparently, something snapped in him the moment their lips touched and he’s been losing his damn mind ever since, and not in the way she’d hoped. 

It’s taken her all night to reconcile this fact within herself. She finally built up the courage to kiss him and the second she did, it was like he became a different person. If that isn’t a sign that two people aren’t meant to be together, she doesn’t know what is, so she’s been trying hard to let go of any possibility of them being together. He’s still and will always be her best friend, she stills loves him fiercely, but she’s trying to accept that they’ll never be more than that. 

He jimmies the door and it starts to swing open, and she can only hope that it isn’t because he broke in. As he pushes the door ajar, she unclips her seatbelt and makes her way towards him, careful along the untreated icy path to the entrance. 

Killian is already bustling around the crypt once she gets inside, opening small hatches and boxes without seeming frightened of what he may find. He huffs angrily as he keeps coming up empty, although she isn’t even sure what he could be looking for at this point. She isn’t sure _he_ knows what he’s looking for. 

“Bloody hell,” he heaves. 

“Killian, what are you even looking for?”

“I’ll know when I see it,” he mumbles with surety. “I saw something shiny and--” 

“ _Saw_?” 

He looks up at her in surprise, his brows high on his face, before he draws them back down in a look of disorientation. For someone who always has such a way with words, he’s uncharacteristically silent as he shakes his head and goes back to his search. “I don’t know,” he says with defeat.

She takes the few steps it takes to get in front of him, placing her hand on his heart and stopping him from crossing the small space once more. “Killian,” she nearly whispers. His eyes continue to dart around the room nervously so she repeats, “Killian, there’s nothing in here.” 

“There has to be,” he says despondently. 

“It’s okay,” she consoles, running her hand up his chest, onto his shoulder, and into the thick hair at the base of his neck. “It’s going to be okay.” 

He looks so confused and broken as he shakes his head, refusing to make eye contact with her, pulling away from her in a way she’s seen before but never thought she would see from him. She feels tears burning her eyes at the realization that she must be losing him. He’s hardly responding to her, he’s keeping her at arm’s length… in her experience, it can only mean one thing. 

She’s about to pull away first, hoping to do so before he can, when he gasps and grabs her arm, eyes growing wide like saucers and body becoming stiff and rigid again. “There,” he whispers, staring off behind her and stepping to the side. 

Turning to follow his line of sight, she catches a faint glimmer against the sunlight, a shining piece of silver wrapped around a bouquet of red roses. He walks to it, grasping the flowers and taking them off of the shelf they lie on before taking hold of the metal object and letting his breath leave his lungs in shock. “This is it,” he declares with certainty. 

As she steps over to him, he holds the object up between them and lets it shimmer in the sun, the curve of it catching the light and bouncing into Emma’s eyes. He turns it, and the brightness gleams on a sharp, threatening point. A hook. 

_A_ _hook._

“What,” she breathes. “How?” 

“This is it,” he repeats, his eyes meeting hers and looking clearer than they have in the months that she’s known him. “This is mine.” 

He starts sliding the sleeve of his left hand up his arm, exposing the hardware that keeps his prosthetic in place. She’s always thought it was rather old-school looking, aged leather and silver grommets holding the mechanism together, but she figured it was his style, and if he was going to wear a prosthetic, he may as well make it fashionable. But when he clicks the hand out of its socket and places it on the table, she notices that the joint that attaches matches the end of the hook. 

He picks up the hook and inserts it into the small opening, twisting until it makes a satisfying click that takes their breath away. 

“It’s yours,” she repeats, because while she can’t wrap her head around it, she believes him. 

~~~~

“Should you be wearing that around town?” she wonders as they park outside of Granny’s, hoping to get a table during the lunch rush. Despite it not even being noon yet, she’s having a hard day, and she’s finding it difficult to fathom the idea that this random hook that he found in someone’s mausoleum fits perfectly into the hardware for his prosthetic. She isn't sure she’s ready to believe that he’s Captain Hook, although she isn’t so sure she has a choice. 

“I suppose you're right. It just feels like I should be wearing it.” 

She nods, not because she understands completely, but because she believes in how firmly he believes that. “It just seems kind of… threatening,” she tries with a light tone.

“Emma,” he starts as he clicks the hook back out of its place. “Can we talk about this?” 

“Of course,” she agrees, turning from the empty road to glance at him and then quickly back.

“Just… I know how you may want to respond to this, but the book, love.” 

She takes a deep breath and wants to let it out with a groan, but she stops herself. He’s right, in a way. Just last night, he pointed out Captain Hook, and here he is with a hook for a hand. There aren’t many ways she can truly understand that. “I know,” she says softly.

“If this is true, shouldn't that mean that the rest of the story is as well? Can it truly be a coincidence that all of these characters illustrated look like the people here?” 

“It _shouldn’t_ ,” she argues, “but… I don't know. I don't know why this doesn’t feel as crazy as it should.” 

“Maybe it’s not crazy, then.” 

She lets herself nod, considering the meaning behind these thoughts as much as she can before the doubt sets in again. “There's no way Snow White lives in Maine.”

He laughs and nods along with her. “Perhaps it’s just difficult for you to accept what it would mean for you if she did?” 

“What does that mean?” she asks as he shuts off the ignition. 

“Well, I read much of the storybook the other night after you fell asleep. It depicts Snow White and her Prince Charming having a baby, who is the product of True Love. The baby is sent away before a curse is struck, to a land that has no magic, so that she can grow up to be the Savior who breaks the curse and saves all the people who were affected by it.” 

“Okay…” she says slowly, shifting her eyes as she finds it difficult to meet his. “So?” 

“Swan, the baby was sent through a wardrobe, made from an enchanted tree. The baby was sent with another boy, meant to keep her on track in her quest to break the curse.” 

Something sinks in, deep in her stomach as her baby begins to toss and turn, and she realizes his meaning. The boy who found her in the woods. The boy who claimed that they came through a tree. He thinks it’s her. He thinks it’s real. 

She feels as though the breath has been knocked out of her, the baby kicking and dancing in every direction until Killian places his hand upon her belly and he settles instantly. “It’s hard for you to accept because if it was true, that makes you the Savior. The one who breaks everyone here out of the torture of being cursed by an Evil Queen. It means that there was a reason for you being sent away-- it means it was done purposely-- and that’s got to be hard to grasp.” 

Her eyes are stinging again, the salty tears trailing easily down her cheeks as she comes to the realization that he’s right. If this is real, which still seems impossible, it means that there’s a purpose behind her suffering for so many years. It means her parents did this for a reason, for something bigger than herself and them. It feels like she can’t be angry for the decision they made, if they did it for the greater good. 

“Then… you said you thought Snow White was…” 

“Mary Margaret,” he nods. “And think of the connection she had with the man we found. If Snow White shares a True Love connection with Prince Charming, doesn’t it follow that the man Mary Margaret found and saved would be--”

“Stop,” she begs him, taking his hand and meeting his eyes with desperation, thinking herself incapable of hearing more. If these things are true, it means the bond she felt with Mary Margaret from the moment they met runs deeper than she thought. It means she’s known her mother for a week and hasn’t known it. It means her mother is almost the same age as her. It’s too much to take in, too fantastical to comprehend. 

“This town as a whole is so illogical. It didn’t exist before the day you were born! How can that be possible if not for this?” 

“This is insane!” she explodes. 

“Emma,” he appeals, “what if it’s real? What if this is you?”

She lets out a sob and shakes her head, dropping it into her hands. “I don't know what’s going on,” she cries. “I’m so confused, Killian. I don't know why this is making sense; it’s so insane.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, Swan,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to the back of her head and pulling her close to him, hugging her over the gear shifter. She falls against his chest and feels his hand slinking up and down her back soothingly. “It’s alright, my love. I’m sorry.” 

“I just can’t-- I don't feel like I can deal with this right now. Or ever.” She knows her dramatics are in part because of her pregnancy, but she’s also so overwhelmed with the influx of information that she feels there's nothing she can do but cry.

“I know,” he repeats in a whisper. “But you’re so strong. Look at what you’ve survived already. It only makes perfect sense that you would survive that, too. Nothing seems more like a natural fit than my Emma being a Savior,” he tells her, dragging his thumb along her cheekbone and giving her a smile that tells her he’s never believed in her more than he does now.

She lets herself melt into his touch, his warm, strong hand keeping her safe in a way she’s never felt before meeting him. She sniffles, and she thinks it should gross him out, but he simply wipes away another tear and holds her firmly. Looking through her wet lashes, she meets his eyes with her own and sees nothing but truth behind them. “You believe in me, don’t you?” she asks again, just as she had the night before, and he nods with fervor. 

“Of course I do.” 

Their foreheads touch, and it sends a zip of electricity through her instantly, making the two of them shiver in unison. She leans just a bit closer until their noses run together, the cold tip of hers warming against his heated cheek. She knows it would be like the last time, where he won't make any move to get closer to her without her initiating it, so she presses against him until their lips are nearly touching, their breath exhaling so heavily that the windows begin to fog against the chilled Maine air. She shuts her eyes, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and lets her lips trap his in a gentle yet charged kiss. 

A warmth that she’s never felt envelopes her immediately, the light between them shutting out any sense of darkness within her. Frantically, she pulls him closer, unable to get enough of the feel of his soft lips massaging against hers, and his hand laces itself through her hair to pull her head impossibly closer to his own. She lets her cold fingers touch against the back of his neck, which draws a shiver from him, but he only kisses her more feveredly at the sensation. With her sigh, he takes the opportunity to trace his tongue lightly along her bottom lip just as he’d done the last time, only he doesn't stiffen against her now. 

Something rushes through her, she thought it to be the passion and heat she feels for him, but it’s so powerful that it nearly knocks them apart. When she opens her eyes, she thinks she sees a trailing rainbow light expanding upon the town and each person she sees jumps in the same way she had. “Swan,” he breathes, touching his fingers to his bottom lip. ”It’s you.” 

“What?” she laughs breathlessly. “Of course it’s me.” 

“No, I mean--”

He has no chance to continue his thoughts as the townsfolk start bustling, running out of storefronts towards each other and hugging in what appears to be triumph and relief. “What’s going on?” 

“Darling, you,” he starts, letting out a laugh as breathless as her own. “You did it. You're the Savior.” 

She wants to respond, but the commotion outside of the car as people appear to be celebrating in the streets is distracting, and when she looks, she can see Mary Margaret hugging Ruby. “Is something wrong?” she asks him. 

“I think something just went very, very right, my love. We should go and see.” 

Mary Margaret runs for her when she sees them, enveloping her in a tight hug and nearly expelling all of the breath from her lungs. “Emma,” she sobs. “You did it. You found us.” 

“What… _What?”_

“You… Hook?” she asks him, releasing Emma from her vice-like grip. “Did you two…”

“Aye, love,” Killian says, nodding and giving her a soft smile. “Emma broke the curse with… with a kiss.” 

Emma lets her jaw hang open in shock at his words, and before she can say anything, she hears, “Snow!” from down the street and turns to see the man in the coma running towards them, dressed in just scrubs. “Snow!” he shouts again.

Mary Margaret lets out a gasping breath and runs towards him, slamming into his arms as they envelop each other in an embrace. Killian touches Emma’s back gently and she turns towards him, chewing on her lip as she notices Ruby and Granny running towards Mary Margaret and the man as well. “Swan,” he says softly. “Are you alright?” 

With her mouth still agape, she shakes her head softly and asks, “is this… are you saying this is all real?” 

He touches her belly before she even realizes how fervently the baby is kicking and smiles. It’s one that she recognizes through all of the insanity that swirls around her, and it grounds her as much as the feeling of his warm palm does. “It’s real, love. You broke the curse.”

“But how?” 

He stutters slightly, moving his hand and scratching behind his ear adorably, and says, “why, with True Love’s Kiss, of course.” 

With a scrunched brow, she steps closer to him and looks deeply into his eyes to see clear truth. “You mean… you and me… when we kissed, it was True Love?” 

He takes a moment to inhale and lean closer to her, his hand gently brushing hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear, and he says, “yes, Emma.” 

Pressing onto her toes, she captures his lips in another scorching kiss, this one not causing any curses to break, but just as impassioned as the one that had. Her fingers find the hair at the base of his skull and tangle into it as his hand tucks under her jacket and presses against the small of her back, pulling her close to him as she feels the baby jumping for joy against his body on hers. Through the kiss, she lets out a laugh at the sensation, but doesnt pull away from him just yet. 

“I love you,” she whispers against his mouth, feeling him grin and kiss her once more. 

“I--” He stops after a particularly firm kick from her belly, one that makes her grunt, and looks down between them and back up with a grin. “Was that him?” 

She nods, her nose running along his cheek. “He’s very excited right now, ever since we found your hook, actually. Hey, does that mean you really are-- What’s that?”

Looking to her left down the street and towards the woods, they see a purple cloud of smoke rushing towards them, billowing through the streets. His grip on her tightens, pulling her close into his arms and holding the baby between them protectively as the fog washes over them, making Emma shiver until it feels like her skin is tingling. As quickly as it had arrived, the smoke vanishes, leaving them in mutual confusion.

His eyes dart around them, searching until he settles on Mary Margaret. He leans down to kiss her cheek and whispers, “come,” then places his hand gingerly on her lower back and guides her towards the group. 

“Your Majesty,” he calls when they’re close enough. 

“Oh, David,” she says, tears in her eyes, “this is her. This is Emma.” 

“Emma,” the man, David, breathes, taking a step towards her. He lifts his hand and holds it mere inches from her face, and she notices his eyes glassing over as he gently touches her cheek. “You're so beautiful,” he chokes out through a gentle, near silent sob. 

She isn’t sure how to react. A large part of her is screaming that this is completely ridiculous. The man she loves is not Captain Hook; Snow White and Prince Charming are not her parents; she isn’t the product of True Love. But as she sees this man before her, the man whose lips are almost the same shape as hers, an even larger part of her is screaming that this is real. Her father is here and if the look on his face is any indication, he loves her. Her baby kicks and punches in her belly and she places a soothing hand over him.

“And,” Mary Margaret starts, wiping tears from her eyes. “Hook. David, they broke the curse.”

“Of course she did,” he beams. “She’s the Savior. She was prophesied to break it.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she argues modestly. Killian’s hand slides up her back and lands on her shoulder. 

“You did, love. You believed in magic, despite how difficult it was, and that was enough.” 

She turns to face him, confusion likely still painted across her face, and says, “how was that enough? I don’t even know if I actually believe any of this is real.”

“The fact that you and Hook broke it proves that you do believe it. At least a part of you does,” Mary Margaret says. 

“A part of you,” Killian murmurs, looking down at his feet and furrowing his brows. His breath catches and his grip on her tightens, as if he’s just remembered something of great importance. He takes a beat of silence, seeming to be pondering something, and then looks up at David and Mary Margaret. “We’ve got to get her out of Storybrooke.” 

~~~~

“If my hunch is correct, that strange purple smoke was the Dark One bringing magic to Storybrooke,” Killian explains once they're finally comfortable in Mary Margaret’s loft. “Meaning _anyone_ can use magic here.” 

Mary Margaret nods, handing Emma a bottle of water and a sleeve of crackers. She started to feel nauseous when Killian tried to explain his reasoning behind wanting to leave, so they chose to come back here and get something to eat. She hasn’t eaten since breakfast hours ago, so she can only assume that’s where the wave of revulsion came from. “Anyone, meaning Regina and Rumplestiltskin.” 

She rolls her eyes at the name, still unable to fully accept that this is a real person. 

“Aye. But they're not the only ones I'm worried about,” he says ominously, his hand squeezing her shoulder from where he stands protectively behind her, letting her lean back against his chest. 

“What do you mean?” David asks from the bar stool beside Emma. 

“Have either of you ever had any run-ins with Regina’s mother?”

“Cora?” Mary Margaret asks in shock. Another wave of nausea washes over Emma and she groans, Killian looking down at her and placing his hand over her belly, a kiss on her temple. 

“Breath, my love. More water?” he murmurs into her ear, though the illness subsides. 

“I’m fine,” she says back, soft enough for just him to hear. 

With one more kiss to her cheek, he straightens and says, “Aye, Cora. I believe her to be a threat, especially with magic in this land.”

“How is she a threat?” Mary Margaret asks as Killian opens her crackers easily with his handy hook.

“How do you have any ties to her?” David asks. “Why should we even trust you? You’re probably aligned with her; you are a pirate after all.” 

Killian lets out a huff of breath and says, “I assure you, I want nothing more than to be rid of her. But I fell into her trap out of mere desperation and found myself making a deal with her.” 

“A deal?” Emma asks softly, looking up into his eyes and seeing the same man she’s loved all along, despite his slightly different way of speaking and his change in prosthetic.

“Aye,” he says, looking back down at her and gently moving her hair away from her eyes. “I became consumed with anguish after… after the death of my first love. I spent ages trying to seek my revenge on the man who killed her,” he looks up at David and says, “the Dark One. He killed her.” 

“Killian,” she says, squeezing her hand over his hook. “I’m so sorry.”

With a sad smile, he says, “this happened centuries ago, love. Worry not.”

“Centuries?” both she and Mary Margaret ask.

“I spent many decades in Neverland trying to find a way to exact my revenge. It’s neither here nor there. The point is, I wound up in Cora’s company and desperately depressed after I found out a curse had taken the Crocodile to a Land Without Magic, which I could not reach. I asked Cora if I would ever find love again and she told me I would, though not without challenges. She told me she could send me to the land in which my love resides, provided that I… obtain something for her once I'd arrived.” 

Emma puts her crackers down, chasing them with a gulp of water, and asks, “what did you have to obtain?” 

He gulps, staring around the room and struggling to look her in the eyes. “Emma,” he starts nervously. “You must know, I had no idea what she intended when she sent me here. I had no knowledge of the item she sought.” 

Drawing her brows together, she says, “just tell me.” 

Taking a deep breath, he takes her hand and says, “Cora is the Queen of Hearts. She required the Heart of the Truest Believer in order for her to break through her daughter’s curse and get back into her good graces.” 

“What does that have to do with Emma?” 

“I swear to you, Swan, I did not know what she was describing when she sent me.” 

“Killian,” she whispers, squeezing his hand and pulling him close to her. “Please.” 

He gulps again and says, “all she told me was that the swan would carry the heart.” 

Furrowing her brows, she repeats, “the swan would carry…” She pushes away from him, her eyes growing wide and her head snapping up to look at him straight on. “No,” she says in disbelief, her hands covering her belly. “My baby?”

This woman wants the Heart of the Truest Believer. It only makes perfect sense that Emma's child would hold that heart, because there’s no other explanation to how easily she’s been able to believe everything everyone has been telling her. And now this psychopath wants to take her baby’s heart, using Killian to do so.

“Emma, I swear to you, I didn’t know. I lost my memories when I came here, I don't even know how long ago this was. I would never bring harm to you or the baby. I will never let anything happen to either of you.”

She feels herself closing off to him, her walls climbing high as tears start trailing down her cheeks. But something within her reminds her that this is a man she loves. She supposedly broke a curse by kissing him. She can see herself raising her child with him. She _trusts him._ “You didn’t know?” she asks weakly, letting the tears fall freely as she tries to confirm his story.

“On my honor, on my life, Emma, I had no idea. I only wanted to find the love that I craved so fiercely. She told me I would find my true love, a person I would love even more than I did Milah, which I never thought possible. So I jumped at the opportunity without considering the ramifications.” 

She can hardly catch her breath, and the way that her baby falls still suddenly draws a pained sob from her lips as she drops her face into her hands. “Killian,” she whimpers, letting herself lean forward until her head is against his chest and his arms are around her. “I’m scared.” 

“I know,” he soothes, running his hand through her hair to pull her closer. “I’m sorry, I know it’s too much.” 

“She wants to take his _heart?!_ ” 

She feels him gulp again against her head and nods so softly that she almost doesn’t recognize it. “I’m not going to let her.” 

Pulling back from him, Emma looks at Killian and shakes her head. “I just-- I don’t--”

“Darling,” he tries gently, putting his hand on her shoulder and gazing into her eyes. “Look at me. Use your superpower and see that I’m telling you the truth. I will not let anything happen to your child.” 

Through watery eyes, she looks into his and sees what she’s always seen. Comfort, love, honesty, _home_. When the baby flutters in agreement, she believes him. She’s always believed him. “I know,” she says weakly. 

His hand cups her cheek and he presses their foreheads together before meeting her for a tender, comforting kiss that confirms what she already knows; he’s telling the truth and he loves her. He loves _them._ “I’ll figure this out, my love,” he vows against her mouth. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.” 

She nods, her nose rubbing along his cheek, and says, “okay. I trust you.” 

With another chaste kiss, he asks, “would you like to lie down, my love? It’s been a long day already.” 

Although she hadn’t realized how tired she had become, he’s right. He knows her better than she knows herself, it would seem, and she nods her head again and takes a deep breath, hoping to pull herself together. “Will you come with me?” she asks in a whisper, feeling pathetic as the words leave her mouth. 

“Always.” 

Before she’s able to sleep, she lets her mind run rampant with questions that he answers happily. He lies beside her, turned on his side to face her as she faces him, the baby safely tucked between them, and explains all that has happened to get him to this point. He tells her about his father’s abandonment of himself and his brother, leaving them enslaved to an abusive captain. He tells her of his life before piracy, when he was an honorable lieutenant in the Royal Navy until his brother died because of their king’s negligence. He tells her of his days as a gruesome pirate, and how he found love with a woman who desperately needed to flee her toxic marriage. He tells her of the death of this woman, and how it sent him on a centuries long quest for revenge against a man who cannot be killed. He tells her of learning what he would become if he were to succeed, and the spiral of depression this sent him down. He tells her what he did to quell the feelings of hopelessness that this discovery brought him. 

He thought that finding Cora was a one-way ticket to the happiness that he was without for most of his life. He thought that if he simply found some random swan and brought it to her, he would be afforded the life he’s always wanted. He had such high hopes, and learning of how utterly wrong he was is stoking the fire of self blame and hatred that seems to be perpetually burning in his heart. 

“It’s not your fault,” she tells him sleepily as she feels her eyes growing heavy. Then, in a quiet whisper, she promises, “I love you. We love you.” 

~~~~

She wakes alone with a start, hissing whispers that have grown just a touch too loud keeping her from settling her heartbeat. 

“What would you know about what’s best for her?” David chastises, and Emma swears that if she could see him, he would be rolling his eyes.

“We broke the curse,” Killian says. “ _We_ broke it.” 

“With True Love’s Kiss,” Mary Margaret breathes, her tone still sounding disbelieving. 

“With the pirate? Our daughter and a _pirate!_ Snow, she was supposed to be a princess!” 

“Well, she wasn’t! Do you know what she’s been through? She was homeless a year ago. She nearly went to prison.” Killian sounds so angry on her behalf, it makes her wonder how their conversation got to this point. “Call me a bloody pirate all you wish, but you should count yourself lucky that she’s had someone to give her love and support while she deals with such adversity. At least she had _someone_ who could ensure that she felt cared for in the world that’s treated her like nothing.”

“We did what we had to do,” David argues. “I don’t need parenting advice from you.” 

Killian takes a deep, hissing breath and says, “aye, you’re right. I apologize for my rudeness. I realize there wasn’t much you could do. But she’s broken the curse now and there’s magic in this land. We need to get her away from here before danger befalls her and the child.” 

“And you think taking her away from her family is the best way to do that,” David deadpans. 

“It’s certainly not staying here and waiting for Cora to arrive! It certainly isn’t bringing her to a desolate land destroyed by a curse!” 

“Both of you stop it. You're going to wake her up.”

She hears Killian sighing and sits up in bed as quietly as she can, careful not to alert them that she’s already up. If they want to have a conversation about her wellbeing without including her, she feels she has the right to shamelessly eavesdrop. 

“I just don't think that closing off the portal to our home is a good solution. It’ll prevent us from ever getting back to the Enchanted Forest.” The effort she puts forth at preventing herself from snorting at David’s words is deserving of recognition, she thinks. 

“At least it will keep Cora out.” 

“And let me guess,” David starts. “You want to take her back to Phoenix, where you know her family can’t follow, to _keep her safe_.” She can hear the air quotes from upstairs. 

“Wherever we go, it’s as much up to Emma as it is me,” Killian argues. “If she chooses to stay, then I’ll stay with her. Actually, I’d much prefer it. But it’s ultimately her decision.” 

“You’d prefer it?” Mary Margaret asks. 

“Aye. I’ve always wanted her to be able to connect with her family. But we mustn’t forget the fact that the baby has the Heart of the Truest Believer for a reason. It isn’t safe out there for her either.” 

She bolts from the bed, her feet hitting the floor too loudly for her to continue sneaking, so she rushes down the stairs. 

“What did you just say?” she demands as she stalks down the stairs. 

“Swan,” Killian greets softly, nervously, turning in the stool and standing before her. “How did you sleep? Hot chocolate?”

“Don’t,” she insists, shaking her head. “What did you say about my baby? Were we in danger?” 

Killian takes a sip from the mug in his hand and places it down on the counter. “Well, darling,” he starts slowly. 

“ _Killian.”_

“The Heart of the Truest Believer… it isn’t possible for someone to have it, or produce it, lest they hail from a magical land.” 

She raises a brow and walks into the kitchen, silently taking him up on his offer of hot chocolate but refusing his or Mary Margaret’s help. “Which apparently I do. So?” 

“Well, my darling, in order for a person to be born with such power, it’s necessary that _both_ parents come from a land forged with magic.” 

Letting the spoon clink against the mug as she drops it, she turns around to face him and cocks her head to the side. “ _Both_ parents?” 

“Aye,” he nods, his eyes locked to hers urgently. “Meaning…” 

“Neal.” 

“Neal?” David asks.

“Aye,” he tells David, then turns back to Emma. “I don’t tell you this to frighten you, Swan, just to make you aware that he may not be who you thought he was. We don’t know what he knows, or what his intentions were.”

“Aside from completely screwing me over,” she offers as she rolls her eyes. “I think he’s exactly who I think he is: a jackass.” 

“Who is Neal?”

“The sperm donor,” Emma tells him simply, turning her attention back to her mug. 

Mary Margaret makes a barely audible sound that seems to indicate her understanding, then nods. “So there’s someone else here who is from our land?”

“Aye, and what a coincidence that he happened to impregnate and then promptly abandon the Savior.” 

She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head, leaning back against the counter behind her. 

“So… you’re not…” David starts. 

“No,” Emma answers, her tone slightly more irritated than it needs to be, though she hopes she conveys how badly she does _not_ want to discuss this with her supposed parents. “So how do you know you guys can’t leave Storybrooke?” 

Killian blushes at her admission that she heard their conversation. “The dwarves did some investigating whilst you napped. Sneezy lost his memory when he crossed.”

Closing her eyes, she shakes her head slowly. “The dwarves,” she whispers in disbelief.

“There are many things to get used to now that magic has been brought to this land, love,” he explains. “Either way, we’re likely the only two who can leave since we weren’t cursed here to begin with.” 

She nods. “So you weren’t cursed, then?” 

“No, I was sent here after the curse was struck. There was a time, I would assume many years ago, where magic was present here for a brief period, and Cora was able to send me through. Although, she couldn’t get through to Storybrooke herself, nor could I, but the portal to this land worked. That’s how I wound up in Phoenix. With no magic here, though, I forgot my true identity.” 

“So that’s why the memories of your accident are fuzzy? That’s not how…” 

“The Dark One removed my hand after murdering Milah, his ex wife,” he gruffs casually, as if the _removal_ of his left hand at the wrist was in any way convenient or consentual. As if ready to put this topic behind him, he steps off of the stool and walks towards the fridge to pull out a can of whipped cream. He gives it a shake, slides next to her, and sprays the perfect amount into her hot chocolate. Then he holds the can up to her mouth and gives her a small smile. Emma looks at him through her lashes with a blush and a shy grin before letting him spray a dollop onto her tongue. The smirk on his face makes her heart race and her blush intensify before he dips down to press a soft kiss to her nose. 

David clears his throat awkwardly and says, “I know we just met, but that’s still my daughter.” 

“Apologies,” he says, stepping away. 

“Oh,” Mary Margaret chimes in. “David! Hook’s story checks out! Remember years ago when you woke up and we saw Emma through the portal? That must've been the magic Cora used to send him here.”

Killian raises a brow, still looking at Emma, and asks, “you saw her? Through a portal?”

Her palms begin to feel clammy, and she can feel a cold sweat breaking over her body as a shiver ripples through her spine. Killian continues to stare into her eyes, even as she looks down at her feet, and places his hand soothingly on her shoulder. “Does that mean you could've… You guys could have met me? We could've been together if you’d come through the portal?” 

“Oh, Emma,” she starts, perhaps realizing her mistake in letting this slip. “Of course we wanted to. We wanted to so badly. But we knew you were going to be the one to break the curse. To break _everyone_ out of it. We sent you here for that very reason, and we knew we couldn’t take you off of that path.”

At first, she feels her eyes starting to sting, the tears burning in her ducts as they begin to escape. Her parents could have ended her torment years ago. They could have brought her here and lead the life she’s always wanted; one with the nurturing love and support that every child needs to thrive. But they chose to keep her away, blind faith that she would come here and break the curse that held them captive for decades the only thing they had. 

As she feels her heart cracking from the pain of realization, she also considers all that she’s gained in just the last few months. Of course, since her parents had and lost the opportunity to have a life with her, she’s been through hardships. She’s been abused, she’s been homeless, she’s been abandoned countless times. She almost went to jail. She thought she found real love and had it crushed before her. But she also got a relatively good paying job. She has her own apartment. She has a car. 

She met Killian. She has a baby she never knew she wanted. She wouldn’t have any of this if they had gone through that portal. 

That’s enough for her. 

“It’s okay,” she chokes out, tears still falling in response to the emotional rollercoaster she’s riding in her mind. She leans in to Killian’s touch and lets him pull her in for a tight hug. “I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” 

He chuckles softly, as if in disbelief by her acknowledgement, and kisses her temple, continuing to run his hand along her back. He pulls away just slightly, looking as if he’s about to say something, but instead is interrupted. 

“Well, that’s very sweet,” she hears from the door, straightening instantly as David and Mary Margaret stand protectively in front of her. 

“What are you doing here?” David demands.

“Oh, I was freed from the prison you trapped me in upon the curse being cast,” he explains nonchalantly. 

“You know what he means,” Mary Margaret says, rolling her eyes. “What do you want?” 

“I want what you all want,” he says. “To put a stop to Cora.” 

“Bloody Crocodile,” Killian murmurs angrily when David steps aside and makes the man visible to the both of them. 

“That’s Mr. Gold,” she whispers, looking up at him. 

“Aye, the Dark One.”

“This is the guy who cut off your hand and murdered your girlfriend?” She takes in the sight of him, noting his slight build and reliance on his cane, and wonders what the big deal is. 

“He was a bit more powerful in our land, weren’t you, Crocodile?”

He shoots Killian a snide smile, rolling his eyes, and says, “I need the Savior.” 

Killian barks out a laugh and shakes his head, and Mary Margaret scoffs. “No,” she says simply. 

“Why?” Emma asks, causing everyone in the room to look at her and if it’s preposterous for her to be curious. 

“Why, to stop the Queen of Hearts of course. Which, I’m assuming, is something you want as well.” 

She hums and nods. “And why do you want that?”

Pursing his lips, Mr. Gold says, “let’s just say, having Regina in my back pocket is useful to me. Having her mother whispering in her ear would make it more difficult for me to get what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“To somehow get out of this infernal town and find my son.” 

She isn’t sure she believes him at first, but when she looks into his eyes, he sees something she recognizes. While she knows close to nothing about this man, it’s clear that he’s a parent trying to protect his child. He wants to leave Storybrooke to protect his child, just as Emma does. And apparently, whether he’s speaking nonsense or not, this Cora is threatening that for him. Despite how badly she wants to flee and never look back, go back to Phoenix with Killian where she feels some semblance of safety, this woman has made it clear enough that she wants to harm Emma’s child, and she isn’t about to take that lying down. 

“Fine,” she finally agrees. “I’ll help you, but after that, we’re leaving.”

“Emma,” Killian argues, “you don’t have to help him. He doesn’t deserve it; we can just go.”

So she promises Killian, “I’ll be fine. You can come with me. I’ll deal with this bitch, and then we can get ready to go home. We can leave tomorrow.”

Mary Margaret sniffles and turns into David’s arms, making Emma’s heart feel sore. She watches as her friends, her _parents,_ hold each other at the mention of her leaving so soon after finding them, but she puts the guilt out of her mind. Killian’s right, everyone here can use magic now, and that could serve as a threat. The Mayor apparently cast the curse and presumably didn’t want it broken, so it follows that she is a threat to Emma and her child as well. And try as she might to deny it--as much as she can rationalize that they did what they had to do-- she holds resentment against the people who gave her up. She isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to accept that they’re her parents. They did what they had to do to protect their child, and she’ll do what she has to do to protect hers-- and herself. 

~~~~

Mr. Gold directs Killian to the woods, instructing him to park and telling them that they’ll have to walk the rest of the way. Killian grumbles about how inconvenient it is for Emma to have to walk through the forest, and she rolls her eyes at his ability to complain about everything this _crocodile_ does. She can only remind him so many times that she’s perfectly capable of walking, that one incident being an isolated one. 

“Here we are,” Gold says as they walk, a small well standing decrepitly several feet in front of them. 

“A well?” Emma asks incredulously. 

“Aye, a well,” he says, giving her the same attitude. “Would you have preferred it to be a dragon? Perhaps a giant ogre? A poisoned apple? Must everything be so showy for you to believe it?”

She rolls her eyes at his dramatic response and shakes her head. Once they’re close enough, he looks down the shaft of the well and Emma does the same, Killian holding onto her hand with an iron grip. There’s water below, at the very bottom of the lake, and it glows and bubbles excitedly. Aside from that, though, it seems like a normal well. 

Mr. Gold steps away, a few feet from the well, and gestures for Emma and Killian to follow. Once they’re about 10 feet from it, he takes a power stance, his legs separated as he leans against his cane, and he pulls a long, thin rod from his jacket pocket, handing it to Emma. When she takes it, it feels like a powerful shock zaps her fingers. “Is this… a wand?” she asks in disbelief. 

“Indeed. I can’t control my magic well, so I need the magic of the Savior to summon the power needed to close this portal.”

“A portal,” she remarks, reminding herself. “Is that why it was bubbly?” 

“Yes,” he huffs in irritation. Killian places his hand on her shoulder, holding her close to him in a protective stance. “Listen closely so that we can perform the spell that will close Cora off from this world.”

She scoffs. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t do a spell. I can _spell_ spell…” 

“You are the Savior, love. Magic is a part of you,” Killian encourages, but it simply makes her roll her eyes. 

“Whatever. If no one else here can control their _magic,_ ” she says, waving her fingers sarcastically before herself, “what makes you think I can?”

He smirks, turning to face her, and says, “blind faith, my love.”

Rumplestiltskin makes a sound in disgust and says, “you know, the Queen was right. The two of you are positively nauseating.”

“The Queen?” Emma asks furiously. 

“Don’t think you came here into her cursed town without her taking notice. She’s got plenty of resources in her pocket.”

“Right, is that why you kicked us out of Granny’s?” she asks. 

“You can have your room back if you succeed, Miss Swan,” Mr. Gold says impatiently as he rolls his eyes.

When Killian becomes tired of the banter, he asks “Is this safe?” although Emma doubts the man would be truthful if it wasn’t. 

“Yes. Now hold the wand up to the sky and do exactly as I say.” Taking one quick look at Killian, she holds the wand parallel to the ground and lifts her arm above her head. “Concentrate, Miss Swan. Magic is a feeling. Will it to work; think about what’s motivating you.”

She thinks about her baby, the one she’s desperate to meet and dying to raise with the love she never had. She thinks about Killian and the life she wants to lead with him. She even thinks about her parents and all that she missed with them, and how nice it would be to have a relationship with them now. And before she knows it, the wand is glowing, the sky is turning black, and a crack of lightning shoots into the wand she’s holding. 

She holds it as steady as she can, her eyes growing twice their size as she looks first to a frightened Killian and then to Mr. Gold. He tells her, “aim it at the well and let go.” The instructions seem meaningless, the simple act of _letting go_ of something to which she isn’t sure how she’s holding on seemingly impossible, but when she turns her body, struggling slightly against the force of the lightning, she points it directly at the well and thrusts her arm forwards, watching as the power shoots into the structure with a resounding crack. She jumps back, gasping at the sound and the backfire from the strength of the magic coming from her. 

After just a few moments, the loud buzzing coming from the well subsides, the glowing green light all that remains as any indication that anything had happened here. Mr. Gold makes a sound of satisfaction and walks towards the well, peering down at the water and then turning back to grin at Emma. “Job well done, Miss Swan,” he praises.

“That’s it?” she asks.

“Yes, you’ve created a protection spell. Nothing can travel to this realm through this portal.”

She hums and furrows her brows, looking down at the useless-looking wand. “That wasn’t very exciting,” she points out. “I kind of thought it would be more dramatic.”

“More dramatic,” he scoffs softly. Is the fact that you just conjured powerful magic on your first try not enough mental stimulation for you?” 

“No, no,” she shakes her head, still looking down at her hands. “I guess I just thought I would… feel different.” 

“Magic has been a part of you for your entire life. Why would you feel different when nothing has changed?” 

~~~~

“I must say,” Killian says in a flirtatious tone once they’ve dropped Mr. Gold off at his shop, “what you did back there was extremely sexy.” 

With a grin, Emma bites her lower lip and turns to face him, blush hot on her cheeks. “You think so?” 

“Aye,” he nods. 

“It’s not…” she starts, hesitating slightly, “it doesn’t freak you out? That I can apparently do that stuff?”

He shakes his head, expertly commanding the old car down the street and parking it with minimal effort. “Absolutely not,” he promises. “Even if I didn’t come from a land where magic is widely accepted as normal, I’ve always been quite taken with powerful women.” 

She barks out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“RIdiculously in love with you,” he argues, reaching over the center of the car to place a kiss on her temple. 

With a roll of her eyes, she says, “lame,” although she can’t hide her deepening blush. She turns to face him herself and lifts her uninjured hand, the same one that commanded the magic wand earlier, and places it gently upon his cheek. She loves the feeling of his rugged stubble on her skin. “But… I love you, too.” 

He melts into her hand, a blush of his own heating his cheeks and spreading to the tips of his ears, and kisses the inside of her wrist. Then, as if thinking better of it, he leans closer to her, placing his own hand on her cheek, and pulls her in for a gentle kiss. 

It starts off slow, a tender moment shared between two friends who fell in love with each other, and then grows in passion and heat until Emma's pulse is racing and she can feel the beat of her heart through her entire body. She lets her fingers explore their way into his hair, tugging lightly while also pulling him closer to her. His hand slides down from her cheek to her neck, stroking his thumb along her jaw as she allows him to deepen the kiss.

Nothing happens during this kiss. There isn't a broken curse. They aren’t interrupted by knocks or clearing throats or judgemental one-liners. Killian doesn't stiffen against her and pull away. All that happens between them is a spark that grows rapidly into a flame of desire and passion, one that surely won’t be extinguished if they keep this up. She knows this to be true when she feels his hand begin to explore the curves of her waist, his lips leaving hers and trailing down her neck and his tongue licking lightly against the sensitive skin at the base of her ear. 

She doesn’t even mean to make the sound that comes out of her mouth, but when she moans softly in response to his touch, he squeezes her waist and lets out a similar sounding breath, biting her earlobe. “Bloody hell,” he breathes into her ear, making her shiver. He takes a deep breath again, and it seems like he has more to say, but he remains still against her and lets his lungs deflate slowly and shakily. 

“Too bad we’re staying with my parents,” she jokes softly, letting out a quiet giggle and pressing a kiss to his cheek. She isn’t sure when it will feel normal to call them that, and she feels her stomach twisting at the designation.

“That does put a damper on things,” he agrees, nodding in a way that makes his nose rub against her pulse point. 

“We might have to find a more permanent place, if we plan on staying.” 

He stills his hand, letting it rest on her ribs, and pulls away slightly, raising a brow. “Staying?”

She shrugs casually, looking down at the zipper on his jacket and fiddling with it. “I heard what you said about wanting me to get to know my family… and I think you’re right. I can’t do that in Phoenix, no matter how mad Tiana is gonna be.” 

He hums softly and brushes her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear, and says, “aye, love, but I know you were having trouble accepting your parentage.” 

“I was, I still am. But, I don’t know. I did magic today. _Magic._ Maybe that means I can keep us safe. And I can’t deny… I mean, all my life, I thought I was nothing. And today proved that that isn’t true.” 

“You’re not nothing. You were never nothing,” her murmurs, planting a kiss on her cheek and lingering there. “But I know what you mean. Baby Swan is making it easier for you to believe the impossible.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees softly with a smile. “And it would be nice to have my perinatal nurse of a mother around for when he’s born. She’ll probably ease some of that new-mother anxiety.”

“My Emma,” he breathes, holding her cheek with his palm and running his thumb along her flushed skin as he realizes her meaning. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

She blushes, nodding, and says with tears in her eyes, “I can’t imagine living my life without this baby in it.” 

While she first felt fear and hesitation at the thought of raising a child alone, without the knowledge or experience of being a beloved daughter to guide her, she now knows that none of that is true. She’s not alone. She is loved.

He kisses her once more, pouring into it all of the passion and love that he has not only for her, but for her child as well. It makes her shiver, holding his lapel to keep him close to her. 

“I would’ve been with you for whatever decision you made. But I’m so happy you’ve chosen this path.”

“I know,” she whispers. “And I was hoping…” 

“What’s that?” he whispers back. 

She hesitates, her heart racing and her palms starting to sweat as she considers what she was about to tell him. She knows what he’ll say; he’s the only person in her life, in the short time she’s known him, who’s been consistently able to prove what she means to him. Prove that what he says is truthful. Knowing that doesn’t erase years of fear and trauma, but it helps. 

“Just— I love you. I mean, obviously. And I know we’ve never talked about our relationship or anything but… I just feel like— I mean, I had hoped that we could be… together. The two of us. I’m not asking you to be a father to my child, I just think--“

His kiss cuts her off, saving her from making more of a fool of herself, and she’s so grateful. She knows what the kiss means. She knows what his answer is without his needing to verbalize it. He does anyway, though, murmuring, “yes,” against her mouth. “Emma, yes. Bloody hell. Always.” 

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask you,” she giggles. 

“I’m hopeful,” he starts, pressing another soft kiss to her lips, “that you’re going to ask me to— what is it you lot say here? Go steady?”

She barks out a laugh, pressing her forehead to his and shaking her head. “I don’t think anyone’s said that in about 10 years.” 

“I want to be with you,” he says more seriously. “I want to build a life with you. I want to raise this child with you.”

She feels like the wind is being knocked out of her, grounding herself by squeezing her fingers into his hair. “You do?”

“More than anything.” 

“Even though…”

“I don’t care that it isn’t mine,” he swears. “I love _you_. I love your child. Nothing else matters.”

“Killian,” she whispers, but there’s nothing left to say. No words that can articulate how she’s feeling. 

“Say yes.” 

She laughs again, and says, “I’m supposed to be the one asking you.”

“Well then, yes.”

~~~~

They could’ve made the bliss of their newly defined relationship a bit more discrete, but Emma couldn’t stop herself from holding his hand and swinging their arms and giggling as they walked into Mary Margaret’s loft. She greets them happily, asking how their time with Rumplestiltskin went, and Emma had honestly forgotten all about it.

“Oh, fine,” she answers. “I did it.” 

“Of course you did!” she says cheerfully. “So… it’s done then?” 

“It’s done. The portal’s closed; Cora won’t be bothering us. The baby is safe.” 

“Oh, that’s excellent, Emma. Wonderful job.” 

“She did do a phenomenal job,” Killian confirms, smirking at her as he raises his brows salaciously. “Bloody amazing.” 

David clears his mouth and says, “we’re going to go to Granny’s for lunch. Did you two want to come along? It’s on us.” 

“Oh, that’d be--”

“Actually, I’m pretty tired,” Emma interrupts. “I think I’d like a nap. Pregnancy and all that,” she says, running her hands along her belly. 

Mary Margaret appears to gulp, nodding softly and looking down at her mug. “You get some rest then, honey. We… we’ll go to lunch and be back in a bit. It would be good for the two of us to catch up.”

“Of course,” Emma agrees. She can only imagine being away from her husband for 22 years and not even knowing it. “Maybe we can have dinner later.”

“That would be great,” David says. “And of course, you two are welcome to stay here for the night...” 

Emma nods. “I was hoping we could stick around until we find our own place?”

“Your own place?” Mary Margaret asks, shooting her head up and looking at Emma with wide eyes. 

“We’ve decided to stick around for a while. I figured it’d be nice to have a perinatal nurse around when the baby is born. And… I mean…” she looks down at her feet, kicking the ground softly, then looks back up. “And my mom,” she practically mumbles. 

She hears a soft sniffle, a quiet, hidden sob, and the chair Mary Margaret was sitting in scrapes along the floor as she stands, rushing towards Emma. She pulls her daughter in for a tight hug, another sob of relief escaping her chest as she squeezes around Emma's shoulders. “Emma,” she cries. “Thank you.”

She hesitates before hugging her back, her arms wrapping tightly around the waist of the woman who’s supposed to be her mother. The woman who _must_ be her mother. The baby kicks firmly, excitedly, against her belly 

Mary Margaret pulls away first, laughing and wiping away tears, and says, “get some rest, sweetie-- you’ve had a long day-- we’ll see you for dinner. What do you want? I’ll make your favorite.”

Emma ponders her question for a moment and decides, “meatballs. With spaghetti.”

“I can do that,” she smiles. “We’ll see you guys later; we’ll stop at the store on our way home so we’ll be gone for a while.”

She watches as Mary Margaret and David flit around the apartment, grabbing their jackets and putting on their boots until they’re ready. They promise to be back in around two hours, after finishing lunch and running to the store to grab ingredients for dinner. Emma’s looking forward to it, and she realizes it’s the first time she’ll ever have dinner with her family. 

“Well,” she says, turning to Killian and raising her brows. “Now that we’re alone…” 

He raises a single brow, cocking his head in question, and says, “Swan?” 

She grins softly, taking his lapel in her one working hand and pulling him towards her in a gentle, heated kiss. “I thought you were tired,” he gruffs against her mouth, although he makes minimal effort to pull away. 

“I am,” she says. “I’m tired of you standing here instead of taking me to bed.”

“My my,” he tsks, “in the middle of the afternoon?”

“I don’t care what time it is,” she says against his lips, pulling him in closer to deepen the kiss. He grunts, the sound reverberating through her mouth and sending a shiver down her spine, straight to her core. She gets that feeling that she remembers from one of the first mornings of their trip, the one that felt like her muscles were tightening and burning and nothing could ease the ache, only this time it’s much more powerful as she feels his hand exploring down her side and grabbing onto her ass, giving her a firm squeeze. She lets out a moan without meaning to and he pulls her closer. 

“Nothing would make me happier than bringing you to bed and showing you how much love I have to give you,” he whispers, nipping at her bottom lip, “but are you sure, Swan?” 

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. “I love you. I want you.” 

“Obviously I know you’ve done this before,” he starts with a nervous chuckle. “I just want to be sure that you feel ready. I… I want it to be something special for you.” 

She gives him a soft smile and cups his cheek with her palm, feeling him melt to her touch slightly. “It’ll be special because it’s you,” she whispers. 

He inhales deeply, letting his breath out in a laugh and kissing her chastely before bending at the knees and hoisting her up against himself, letting her wrap her legs around his waist. She giggles, locking her ankles together at his lower back, and kisses his neck when he starts to walk towards the stairs. 

It’s surprising how easily he climbs the stairs despite carrying her and the extra weight of her belly, but he’s on the second floor and dropping her gracefully to the bed in no time, only breaking their mouths apart for a moment as he sets her down. He’s crawling over her, dropping to his elbows when he’s close enough, and she loves feeling the weight of him caging her to the mattress, protecting her and the baby from the outside world and ensuring that she’s focused on nothing but the feel of his lips against her and his tongue sliding into her mouth. His palm finds her breast, squeezing gently over the fabric of her loose sweatshirt and humming into her mouth. “I hope this isn’t too crude,” he starts, “but it’s been impossible not to notice some rather enticing changes to your already irresistable body lately.” 

She snorts and says, “I know. I caught you staring at my ass just a couple weeks ago.” 

“And that was only the time you caught me.” 

She swats his shoulder playfully and says, “well, a lady likes to be appreciated.” 

“Oh, believe me, I appreciate you _very_ much, Swan,” he promises, gliding his hand down her sweatshirt and then sneaking it under the fabric to grip her waist. His hand slides down to the side of her leg, hitching it up over his hip and kissing her deeply again. She feels the firmness of him pressing against her core when he does this, and it makes her gasp against his mouth and tug on his hair. He keeps his left arm by the side of her head, his elbow bent so that it supports his weight, and she can feel the dip in the mattress from him pressing his hook firmly into the bed below her, as if gripping himself in place. “Will you let me show you how much?” he asks breathlessly, and she’s practically forgotten what he’s talking about when he asks. 

“Hm?” she asks, entranced by his tongue sliding down her jaw and his teeth nibbling at her collar bone.

“How much I appreciate you, Swan,” he reminds her. 

“Oh, yes.” 

He chuckles against her skin and pulls away from her slightly so she pouts up at him, making him laugh some more. His fingers dance along her hip and her belly as his hook follows suit, until he’s pulling her sweatshirt over her head, struggling slightly as the collar gets caught on her nose. Once it’s off of her, leaving her in only a bra and her leggings, he kisses her assaulted nose softly and then kisses her lips again. 

“Mm mm mmm,” he hums appreciatively, biting his bottom lip as he looks down at her and raises his expressive brow. “You are a sight to behold.” 

“And you are ridiculous,” she argues. 

“Aye,” he nods, taking her hand, sitting her up, and undoing her bra effortlessly with his hook, letting the straps drape over her arms. “But we’ve already had a conversation about that.”

She nods too, humming in agreement, but gasping when he tosses her bra to the floor and places his lips around her nipple, sucking lightly and letting his tongue dart out against it. Through a sigh, she hums in appreciation, the sensation unlike anything she’s ever felt before, the action unlike anything anyone has ever done before. “Oh,” she says in surprise. “That’s… that’s nice.” 

Open-mouthed kisses guide him to her other breast, using his hand to massage the now neglected one, and he gives her the same treatment again. She knows he has a smart mouth, but she had no idea he was talented in this way as well. It makes her sad that her first few sexual encounters will probably pale in comparison to what she’s likely about to experience, but she’s grateful that he’s here with her now to show her what she’s been missing. 

And show her he does, as his mouth releases her nipple with a pop and creates a flaming path down her front, licking and kissing and nipping at her skin until she’s panting and writhing beneath him. His fingers drag down her side before they hook into the waist of her leggings, along with his hook, and he pulls them down slowly and torturously. 

She knows enough about what goes on between couples in the bedroom to know what he’s about to do. She read a magazine once, one that some couple left in their motel room, and she knows where his mouth is headed and that it’s supposed to be enjoyable. When Neal tried it, though, it was more uncomfortable than anything. She flinches slightly when his nose bumps against the skin just below her belly, and he gives her a soft, gentle kiss that makes her feel comfort and love almost instantly. “Relax,” he breathes into her skin, hot air puffing against her sensitive core until she wants to squeeze her thighs together to ease the pressure. She wants to protest when he spreads her legs further apart, but his fingers touch her lightly and she gasps again, letting her knees fall down beside her. “That’s it, love,” he encourages. “Good girl.” 

Her eyes bug out of her head at his utterance and she squeezes her fist into the sheets at her side. “Oh god,” she breathes, causing him to laugh. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you mind if I use my mouth on you?” Based on the way it feels to have his breath washing over her, she doubts she’ll ever mind. 

“Please do,” she insists weakly. 

When he says, “thank you,” as if it’s an honor for him to be in this position, she lifts her head and notes the way his dark, unruly hair contrasts her pale skin. When he delicately licks his tongue through her folds upon being given permission to do so, she throws her head back into the pillow and groans softly. 

He chuckles against her and she can’t stop herself from moaning, reaching her hand down to grab onto his hair. He continues to drag his tongue along her skin, trailing her arousal through her folds before he sucks her clit into his mouth. She swallows at the sensation, letting her eyes bug out of her head at first before giving in to the pleasure he brings her and fluttering her lids shut. “Killian,” she breathes reverently, but she has nothing else to say. 

It isn’t until he slides a finger inside her slowly, letting it coat itself completely in her arousal so that it slips in easily, that she starts to feel a bit overwhelmed. Everything to this point is something that she’s experienced before, albeit much better now, but this action is new, and the combined sensation of his finger and his mouth is almost too much. She squeezes her legs around his head in a way that could be painful and clenches the muscles in her belly until he pauses his worship of her body and looks up at her. 

“Emma,” he breathes, barely audible over the sound of her panting. “Love, look at me.” 

His voice is commanding in the best way, not giving her a choice but to open her eyes and stare into his own. He smiles softly at her and kisses the inside of her wrist, her grip on his hair remaining ironclad. “I love you,” he says simply. She nods furiously, still panting. “Take a nice deep breath.” 

She listens to him, breathing in deeply and letting it out slowly. “And again,” he insists, and when she does, he presses his thumb gently against her clit. “Just like that, very good. Keep breathing just like that, my love.” 

It’s hard work to keep her breath even, and she lets her head drop back again, trying to remember to relax like he’d told her. With his thumb continuing it’s small circles over her overactive nerves, a finger slides back in and curls just right, making her hips jump towards him. “That’s it,” he praises. “Deep breaths. Does that feel good, darling?”

She nods, reveling in the tightness she’s never felt before, and says, “yes,” through a small whimper. 

The pressure builds when he slips a second finger in beside the first, curling both at once and continuing the movements of his thumb. “Good,” he murmurs from just above her core. “You're so good for me, aren’t you, Swan? Bloody brilliant.” 

She cries out when his lips return to her clit, sucking and licking tenderly as he continues to curl his fingers within her tirelessly. Clenching around him hard, she bucks her hips against him and lets out another mewling moan as stars begin to cloud her vision. She throws her hand against the mattress, finding his hook there and squeezing tightly as she rides out the explosivity of the orgasm that feels as though it may never end. 

He doesn't stop working his fingers and tongue against her, letting her ride it out until her body feels exhausted and her muscles are clenching through the aftershock. With a hum, he licks up her center one last time and says, “brilliant indeed. You taste incredible, Swan.” 

Her eyes darken at his words as she watches him clean his fingers with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth as hooded eyes stare at her through thick lashes. With her chest heaving, she lifts her hand and grabs the lapel of his jacket. “It’s unfair that you're dressed and I’m not,” she complains, to which he smirks. 

“I suppose you're right. I’m nothing if not fair.” 

She rolls her eyes and says, “you're everything.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief and crawls up to fuse his mouth to hers again, the taste of her lingering on his tongue as it slides along her own. She pulls on his jacket until it’s sliding down his arms and he tosses it aside, letting it land on her bra. She kisses him feveredly and he returns the passion and urgency, touching her everywhere while also helping her to disrobe him. When he’s down to only his boxer briefs and his button-up shirt, he pauses, breathing heavily against her. “Swan,” he says, and she hums in response and tries to pull his mouth back to hers. “Love, I--” 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, nervous that he wants to stop and fearful of what she may have done wrong. 

“I just… you haven't seen all of me yet. That is, you haven't seen what’s… missing.” 

“Oh Killian,” she whispers, cupping his cheek tenderly. “Nothing’s missing. Just because you lost a hand doesn’t mean you’re anything less than perfect to me.” 

He looks into her eyes once more as he begins to undo his buttons with one hand, refusing to look elsewhere and wearing a concerned but sure expression. When his shirt is open, she immediately begins to scrape her fingers through the coarse hair on his chest, and he shivers as she follows the trail down his stomach, only barred by the hem of his underwear. He grunts, gulping as she scratches back up until her fingers wrap around his shoulder and squeeze over the aged leather that digs into his skin. “I love you,” she whispers before he leans down to kiss her. 

He clicks the hook out of place, leaving him with just the brace. He flinches when she starts to loosen the straps, but holds her eye contact unfailingly and lets her go on. She strokes and massages the tired skin, red from the strain of the leather. He groans softly in response, letting his arms relax as she removes the brace and laying on top of her, kissing her neck. When his skin is bare, she drags her fingers down his arm and squeezes just above where his wrist should be and his breathing quickens anxiously. She can’t see much, what with his body being over hers, but the skin above the blunted end of his arm is rough and maimed based on the feel of it. She touches it gently and he lets her, for a moment, before his discomfort and fear of rejection wins out and he backs away from her. 

“It’s okay,” she reminds him with a smile. She leaves the rest of her thoughts unsaid: _I love you no matter what._

“I know,” he confirms with a nervous whisper, nodding and leaning down again to kiss her gently. 

She changes the course of her fingers and lets her hand slip down his torso again, giving him an angry pout when she runs into the elastic waist that stops her explorations. He chuckles, pulling them down for her, and she watches as his enlarged cock springs up once it’s released from its confines, the soft afternoon sunlight streaming through the window behind them making him glow and his shadows accentuate each muscle. She isn’t shy about grabbing on to his cock and stroking him softly, reveling in his size and the soft firmness of his skin. She wonders how she’ll be able to take all of him at once, but smirks at the challenge. 

When he’s fully undressed before her, gently thrusting his hips into her hand, he leans back down and puts his weight on both elbows, holding himself over her completely and kissing her with wanton ferocity. He breaks the kiss, cursing into her ear and kissing the skin of her neck before pulling himself out of her hand and hovering over her again, his forehead against hers. “I want you,” he whispers. 

She nods, intent on making sure that the look of pleasure on his face doesn’t fade just yet. She wants to be with him so that she can watch him feel as good as he’d just made her feel. While she knows she probably won’t get much out of it, watching him will be enough. 

“Take me,” she insists

He groans and nips at her bottom lip. Lining himself up to her entrance, he slides his hard cock through her folds slowly and torturously until he seems like he’s about to plunge inside, and she braces herself for the stretch. 

Only it doesn’t come. “Swan,” he murmurs, pushing his nose against her neck. “Why are you wincing?”

Her eyes pop open and she stares at him in surprise, unaware that she was so forcefully tense and unaware of the uncomfortable look on her face. “Oh, I didn’t realize. I’m just… preparing.” 

He strokes his hand along her cheek, running his thumb along her lip, and asks, “are you preparing for pain, my love?” to which she nods. “You’ve already come once, Emma. Does it normally hurt if you’ve already come?” 

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never…”

He stills, sitting up slightly and staring at her. “You’ve never… had an orgasm?”

With an awkward laugh, she responds, “well, obviously I’ve had one! Just not… with someone.” 

Killian bites his lip and nods, lifting a brow dramatically. “I see,” he says. “And each time you’ve been intimate, it’s been painful for you?”

Nodding in confirmation, she blushes and looks at his shoulder rather than meeting his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Well, darling,” he starts, leaning back down to kiss her neck and then her lips. “It shouldn’t hurt much, not when you’ve already finished once. It may be a bit uncomfortable, a bit of a stretch as you adjust to my size,” he smirks, “but it shouldn’t be unbearably painful for you, my angel.”

“It won’t?” She asks softly, unsure based on past experiences, the friction and painful stretch almost enough to make her ask Neal to stop. 

“No, my love,” he promises. “I’ve gotten you nice and ready for me. And if it does hurt, you must simply tell me and I’ll stop.”

With a nod, she whispers, “okay.”

“You’re sure? I want you to be sure.”

She smirks and says, “I’m sure I want you. If you think you can make it feel good for me, then prove it.”

He just out his jaw and nips at her lip again. “I do love a challenge.”

She’s barely breathing as he kisses her some more, the movements of his lips and tongue enough to make her forget about her nerves and focus only on the feeling of being with him. Though his mood was jesting a moment ago, he’s back to his caring, tender self as he grabs hold of himself and strokes through her dampened flesh again. She moans and pushes her hips up towards his, her breath coming out in heavy pants again until he reminds her, “relax, love, just like before. Just breathe.”

She listens, and as he tucks himself inside and pushes in, it doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as she expected. In fact, after he stills, lying in wait for a moment, a sense of relief washes over her desperate muscles and she squeezes around him slightly. He pulls out just a bit and then sheathes himself even further into the wet heat of her core, letting out a crude groan against her neck, which she mimics. 

“Are you alright?” he asks after a few gentle thrusts. She nods, unable to form a coherent thought. “Does this feel good?”

“ _God_ ,” she chokes out, holding the back of his neck so that his forehead remains pressed to hers. “Yes. Keep going, please.” 

With another deep, flaming kiss, he continues his slow thrusts, allowing her to feel every inch of him once he’s fully seated inside her. He pulls out nearly completely before snapping his hips and filling her again, long and slow and deep until she locks her ankles around his waist. With each thrust, their hips meet, and the force of it pushes air out of her lungs in the form of a breathy moan. 

She had no idea sex could feel this good. Sure, she figured it could be better the last few times, she didn’t realize just how pleasurable it would truly be. Being with Neal felt obligatory, like she had to deal with the discomfort for the sake of his release. Now, here, with a man she truly loves who truly loves her in return, she can’t imagine ever feeling this good again. Each thrust makes way for deepened pleasure, her muscles clenching tightly around him as he continues to build her up higher and higher, just like he had moments ago. 

When it starts to feel like she needs more, she tries to tilt her hips against his to gain some friction. It’s difficult having a bump in the way, one that’s gotten considerably bigger in the last few weeks, but she groans in relief when she finally gets her fingers where she needs them. The added stimulation is enough to make her clench around him again, and she doesn’t even think before quickening her movements in time with his thrusts. 

As if tired of the position they’re in, he sits up on his knees, pulling her thigh so that they meet in such a way that allows him even deeper inside her. With better access to her clit, she throws her head back and continues her own ministrations before he takes over, knocking her hand out of the way gently yet frantically. It’s as if he wants to be the one to bring her to her breaking point, and she couldn’t be more willing to let him. 

From this position, she’s able to fully appreciate the way his body looks as he drives into her. Any sense of discomfort she felt has evaporated and made way for the intense and never-ending pleasure of his thrusts, and being able to see where his cock sinks into her once she props herself on her elbow and her hard cast is more erotic than she was prepared for. When she’s up and closer to him, he takes the opportunity to lean down slightly, never stopping his thrusts or the motions of his fingers, so that he can kiss her. 

It’s a deep, impassioned kiss that simply adds to the intensity she feels, and she wants only to get closer to him. She grabs into his hair, able to maintain her position for only a moment before the muscles in her core give out and she’s falling back onto the bed, dragging him along with her. With his hand trapped between them and continuing their quick circles, she tightens her legs around him, squeezes her walls around his cock, and cries out when he thrusts deep and draws out only slightly before pushing back in in quick succession. 

It’s an explosion in her mind and body; the only thing she’s aware of is the intense, rippling pleasure that quakes through her and the stars she’s seeing behind her eyes. Eventually, through her ringing ears, she starts to hear his praises whispered against her skin as he finishes inside her, holding her close. She realizes with annoyance that he broke their kiss, so she pulls him back to her as she works through the aftershock of her orgasm, fusing their mouths together and whimpering slightly when she begins to feel too sensitive. 

He rests inside her for a moment, letting the both of them come down and catch their breath. All the while, he continues to stroke against her clit until she’s twitching and flinching. He continues to kiss her until she can’t breathe and then he moves to her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids. His attention to her is making her want to do this all over again. 

“I love you,” he whispers into the quiet stillness of the room, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. “You’re so bloody amazing.”

“I love you too,” she whispers back as she runs her arms along his scarred back. He’s told her about his days as a slave to an abusive captain, and now being faced with the results of his lashings, she feels a chill running through her. “So much.”

She isn’t sure how long they lie there, with him graciously holding his weight above her so as to not crush her beneath him, but it couldn’t have been too long before he’s pulling away and making her pout. “Don’t make that face,” he begs with a laugh. “I promise I’ll be right back.”

“You better be,” she threatens with narrow eyes. 

He laughs as he gets out of bed, fetching his underwear and traipsing down the stairs. She hears him walk to the bathroom, rustling around for a moment, before he starts back up towards her taking two steps at a time. She giggles when he pops his head up at the top of the stairs, bounding back to the bed and hopping in excitedly before handing her a handful of tissues. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she cleans up, and while she does so, he moves the blankets so that they can crawl under and cuddle up beside each other. “I guess I could use that nap now,” she says thoughtfully. 

With a laugh, he pulls her close to him and kisses her temple. “We’ve had quite an eventful day.” 

She nods and hums, snuggling into his chest and sighing. “Is it gonna smell like sex in here when they get home?”

“Ah… perhaps I’ll open a window. It might be a good idea for us to get dressed too, actually,” he says sadly, running his hand down her bare back with slow, lingering movements. 

She grumbles against his chest and hitches her leg over his hip, pulling him into a tight hug before saying, “we need our own place.” 

With another kiss to her hair, he says, “moving quite fast, are we?”

Her heart rate quickens and she looks up at him. “Do you think so? I mean, I was just thinking about true love and raising a baby together and all that.” 

Tangling his fingers into her hair at the base of her skull, he murmurs, “I would love nothing more than to live with you, Emma. I merely wanted to ensure that that’s something you want.” 

“It is,” she smiles. “I just want to be with you and… and our child.” 

“Our child,” he repeats softly, pulling her down for a tender kiss. 

“I mean, you’ve been the best father figure I could ever imagine and the baby isn’t even born yet.”

He nods shyly. “When he or she is born, I vow to be the best man I can possibly be, for both of you. I swear to you, Emma, you’ll never feel like nothing in this world for as long as you live.” 

He lives up to his vows easily, proving himself to her again and again. He proves her worth, too. He proves that she’s not nothing. She was never nothing.

  
  



End file.
